Dark Paths
by theharshlightofday
Summary: Doubting the road ahead, Aragorn consults the Mirror of Galadriel and is revealed to Sauron. How can the Quest hope to survive when the might of Mordor now seeks the Heir of Isildur? Dark AU.
1. The Mirror of Galadriel

_This is my first serious venture into the Lord of the Rings fandom, so I'm a little nervous! This fic has taken many years to form, ever since I first saw The Two Towers in the cinema. A plot bunny reared its head and it took me a long time to figure out a plot to fit it into, but it kept on niggling away until I finally opened up Word and began to write._

_Just as a warning, this story is going to get __**very**__ dark in places, but then again these characters are pretty used to suffering in fanfics by now ^_^ This fic is also __**AU**__, meaning that anything that is wrong in regards to canon is meant to be! I absolutely love the books and the movies, and I found it necessary quite early on to mix elements of movieverse and bookverse. I will try my best to note these discrepancies when they appear. These include things like the appearance of Andúril, the Evenstar necklace and Éomer's banishment. Sometimes memorable lines from the book will creep in, and in other cases I have referenced or been inspired by scenes from the movie. All credit where credit is due. I only own a couple of OCs._

**XXX**

"Do you wish to look?"

Aragorn did not answer at once, but stood silently by the steps leading down into the deep green hollow. Stars were beginning to glimmer in the shallow waters of Galadriel's mirror; the Lady herself waited patiently beside the stream, clad wholly in white. A silver ewer was in her hand.

"Since Moria I have led this Fellowship," said Aragorn quietly, "but still I doubt the road ahead." His face was troubled as he approached the Lady Galadriel. Even upon the fragrant lawn of Lothlórien Aragorn had found little rest that night. Sorrow and toil still rested heavily upon his shoulders. "I wish to know which path to take," he said.

The Lady smiled.

"I sensed your burden from the moment you arrived." She turned and began to fill her silver ewer in the stream. The murmur of running water was the only sound for a time. "The mirror shows many things," she said after a moment, "but be warned for you may not find the answer that you seek. You must leave the Mirror free to work its will."

Aragorn watched as she took her ewer and filled the silver basin to the brim. Then she breathed upon it and waited until the water was still. Aragorn came forwards and placed his hands upon the rim of the basin. His eyes glinted keenly with the starlight reflected in the water.

"Delay will prove our downfall," he said with a smile. "I will find no rest until I have chosen our path."

And Aragorn looked down and gazed into the mirror. At first he saw nothing. The water was hard and dark, and a gentle breeze stirred its surface. Then the stars went out. The Mirror became grey and clear. From its depths there rose before his eyes great ramparts of stone and fair towers that shone like pearls. White banners were stirring in the breeze. Aragorn smiled as he looked upon the city of Minas Tirith.

"How I long to see that sight again!" he murmured. "But what hope can there remain within those walls? The Ring may not be used to wage this war… It must be destroyed."

Then as if by some hidden desire the waters stirred once more. Aragorn's sight turned from the White City towards the East. He was now looking upon the rocks of the Emyn Muil. The fires of Mordor could be seen as a distant glow upon the horizon.

"I know it is the way," he said, "and yet my heart still longs for a fairer path."

Then Aragorn looked past this barren landscape, and as he did so a pair of wings suddenly rose and blotted out the sun. The Mirror now showed a long grey road winding out of sight. Along it many fair folk were traveling. Suddenly the winged shape beared down upon them with a hideous cry; Aragorn gave a gasp as he saw that they were elves.

Before he could know their fate, however, the vision changed. He saw raging waters falling down from a sheer height, and a black smoke rising from beyond a thicket of trees in the distance. Then there was a great host of men riding over a vast plain, and the sunlight shining down to glance sharply upon their spears and shields.

Suddenly this vision faded, and Aragorn made to draw away. He stopped when the waters stirred again. A pure light sprang forth like a twinkling star, held aloft by a small figure. It soon dwindled and was swallowed up by the shadows. All was dark within his sight. Tall towers rose now in the gloom; great pinnacles of stone and fire, and some work of devilry kept his eyes upon this sight, for now he saw past the smoking pits and raging furnaces and beheld the dark tower of Barad-dûr. Black whispers in a foul tongue entered his mind. A shadow had fallen upon the fair land of Lórien:

_Ash nazg durbatuluk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!_

From the waters there began to rise curls of steam. The Mirror grew very hot, and Aragorn felt the Evenstar about his neck grow heavy on its chain. He struggled to remain upright, for he was slipping forward.

"Do not touch the water!" said the Lady softly.

Aragorn tried to pull away, but a great fire now filled the basin. A single Eye appeared in the abyss, and it began to rove here and there in its search for something. Among the many things that it searched for, Aragorn knew that he himself was one of them. He also knew that the Eye could not see him unless he willed it, but there slowly came into his mind the temptation to reveal himself. If only he could make the terrible roaring stop!

Within the slit of the Eye distressing images began to appear. Aragorn saw a great host issuing from the Black Gate. Then he saw the fair valley of Rivendell covered in shadow, and a withered tree standing in a grand courtyard. Then the image in the mirror changed one last time. Aragorn saw the figure of a woman. She lay as if dead amidst the falling leaves of autumn. Her feet were unshod, and her hair was dark; she wore a blue dress with flowing red sleeves. He saw that it was Arwen.

Aragorn let out a cry of grief. A single tear ran down Arwen's cheek, and slowly she drew one last breath before her eyes were closed. He watched in horror and leant in closer to the mirror. The Evenstar about his neck alighted upon the water, sending a ripple across its surface. Behind him Galadriel gave a cry. In that moment Aragorn knew he had been revealed to the Dark Lord, for a sudden darkness fell upon his mind.

"_I see you now, Heir of Isildur,_" said a terrible voice. "_You will not hide from me. In Lórien you may lie, but soon those cursed forests will burn. I shall have you soon._"

Then there rose a terrible shriek, and it seemed his whole world would be set afire. The Eye of Sauron filled the waters and set its terrible gaze upon him. Aragorn was transfixed in horror as the roaring rose to a crescendo. But then suddenly all was still, and he was leaning upon the basin once more, breathing heavily and gazing into calm waters. He found that he was shaking.

"He sees you, Aragorn." Galadriel was now beside the stream, and the silver ewer she held fell ringing from her hands. "His Eye is roaming. Already I hear fell wings on the air." She raised her hands to her face as if to drown out the terrible sound. Turning aside she leant upon a tree and lo! the light about her was dwindled, and she seemed shrunken; a simple maiden, clad in white.

The spell upon Aragorn suddenly broke. With a cry he rushed to the Lady's side and helped her to a low seat beneath the _mellyrn_. Once more the only sound in the garden was the murmuring of the silver stream. If not for the Lady's distress and his own pounding heart, Aragorn would have thought it all but a dream.

Galadriel looked up at him with imploring eyes. The light of her gaze seemed to have dimmed.

"Go," she whispered in a low voice. "Your only hope lies now in haste. You must be gone at first light."

**XXX**

In the cool twilight Aragorn walked alone among the trees of Lothlórien. Doubt weighed heavy on his thoughts, and in time he came to the fair hill of Cerin Amroth. There he dwelt long upon the glass-clad slopes amidst the _elanor_ and _niphredil_. He stood still in silence. It seemed as though he heard from afar the crying of gulls and the crashing waves of the sea.

"Alas! that these dark paths are mine to tread," thought Aragorn.

A few hours had passed since his vision in Galadriel's mirror had faded, but despite the enduring peace of Lórien Aragorn was restless. The Company was asleep upon the fragrant lawn next to the fountain, and the Lord Celeborn had given discreet orders for the forest guard to be doubled. Nevertheless, Aragorn could find no rest in Caras Galadhon. Despite Lady Galadriel's warning he had slipped out of the city gates at the first instant; there he had met Haldir, shortly recalled from the fences of the North, who insisted on accompanying the ranger upon the short road. Aragorn had shook his head, however, and told the elf that he must go alone. There was something that he had to do.

Taking a deep breath, the ranger cast his gaze about him. The South Wind was quietly blowing and murmuring among the branches. Above the silver trees crowning the hillside he spied a silver lantern glowing in the high flet; the elves of Lothlórien remained on guard. In the darkness the sward of grass upon Cerin Amroth was pierced with flowers like pale and gold stars.

Only here in the heart of Elvendom could Aragorn find any rest. He smiled as he strayed in a fair memory; a light was in his eyes as he knelt down upon the grass. Gently he picked a small golden bloom of _elanor_. He studied the flower for a time as it lay nestled upon his hand, stirring in the breeze.

_Arwen vanimelda, namarië! _he said softly.

Aragorn drew another breath and stood up again, taking the bloom of _elanor_ with him. And then with a heavy sigh he left the hill of Cerin Amroth and came there never again as living man.

**XXX**

The Company awoke early the next day. They knew not the lurking danger that set out to meet them, for both Aragorn and the Lady Galadriel remained silent about what had happened in the green hollow. It seemed to Sam, however, that a sudden state of readiness had fallen upon the elves, as if they sensed some approaching evil that they could not name. Their faces were grim, and they spoke little as they passed on swift errands that they did not wish to discuss.

After they had packed their replenished supplies the Fellowship gathered for a morning meal upon the lawn by the fountain. For a time they sat together, savouring the fragrant grass beneath their feet and the lingering scent of autumn on the breeze. Their hearts were heavy at this latest parting; Gimli, especially, was grieved to say goodbye to the fair Lady. Aragorn remained quiet as he touched a hand to his breast, where the bloom of _elanor _lay hidden in a secret pocket of his shirt.

Haldir soon arrived to lead them out of Lórien, and the Company followed him through the green ways, out of the city gates and down to the banks of the Silverlode. There they found a hythe built of white stones and wood, and a number of boats and barges moored beneath the overhanging branches. A few more elves were to be found here, packing the boats intended for the Company with goods and coils of rope. Sam was delighted by its craftsmanship.

After their long hike the Fellowship took the chance to rest their tired feet. Down by the bank of the Silverlode Aragorn sat alone with his long legs stretched out before him. He was gazing quietly upon the glistening waters as the boats were made ready for the Company's departure. With soft footsteps Legolas came to join him. He placed a hand upon the ranger's shoulder.

"You are troubled, Aragorn," said the elf, settling down beside him.

Aragorn turned and gave a smile, but it did not extend to his eyes.

"It is nothing, Legolas. I am merely sad to be leaving these shores. It is many years since I spent time amidst the Galadhrim."

"My heart grieves also," said the elf. "The land of Lórien is fair indeed. Fairer even then the tales I have heard told, but come - I sense something deeper in your thoughts."

Aragorn shook his head; he could not help but laugh.

"Keen is your sight, Legolas, son of Thranduil. But nay! It is nothing but grief and doubt of the road ahead, for I have not yet chosen the path that this Company should take."

Legolas found no answer to this, for he knew that the choice was for the ranger to make alone. And so they sat quietly for a time, whilst nearby the boats were made ready and stowed with goods. After a moment Aragorn spoke once again.

"Legolas?"

The elf stirred.

"Yes, my friend?"

"In Moria, Gandalf passed on his leadership to me, and I have brought us thus far without harm." Aragorn's voice was firm as he spoke. "But the Company would depend upon you in my absence. Do you know this?"

Legolas smiled a little.

"You speak as a man who knows that he will die."

Aragorn laughed again.

"You make it sound so grim, Legolas."

"Perhaps it is so."

**XXX**

Very soon the boats were filled with supplies and made ready for their departure. A soft breeze stirred the leaves upon the silver branches as the Company took a trial upon the water, and met Celeborn and Galadriel as they came down the river to meet them. They then returned to sit upon the green grass and eat and drink their fill one final time.

Solemnly the Lady spoke with them and passed about the cup of farewell; everybody drank deeply. They then received gifts from her in memory of Lothlórien. All were cloaked in the garb of the elves. To Legolas Galadriel gave a bow of the Galadhrim and a quiver of arrows; Merry and Pippin received fair daggers sheathed in belts set with golden flowers. With delight Sam received a coil of the elven rope he had so admired, made of _hithlain_, and Boromir a belt of gold. Gimli stammered and bowed low as Galadriel honoured him with three hairs from her golden head.

When Galadriel turned her eyes upon Aragorn he saw that there was much she wanted to say to him. In present company, however, such words would have to wait. She gave to him then a fine sheath which had been especially made to fit his sword, Andúril. Upon it were fair elven-runes, and it was overlaid with leaves and flowers wrought of silver and gold.

"The blade that is drawn from this sheath," she said, "shall not be stained or broken even in defeat."

Aragorn took the sheath and bowed his head, saying nothing for the moment. Then the Lady turned to Frodo and drew something from within her robes. It was a glittering crystal phial, which shone with many rays of white light as she moved it here and there.

"Farewell, Frodo Baggins," she said. "I give you the light of Eärendil, our most beloved star. May it be a light to you in dark places, when all other lights go out."

And she leant down and kissed the hobbit gently upon the forehead. Aragorn saw, or at least imagined that he saw, a look of foreboding in Galadriel's eyes as she drew back and studied Frodo's face. The hobbit took the phial and bowed low to her, murmuring his thanks.

The gift-giving over, Celeborn led the Company back to the hythe, Aragorn hung back to speak privately with Galadriel. They walked together for a time beneath the trees until they reached a quiet spot down by the shore. The ground here was wreathed in soft mists; sunlight shone down through the forest canopy above, casting dappled shadows upon the water.

"Your Quest stands upon the edge of a knife," said Galadriel, repeating the words she had spoken on the Company's arrival. "Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all."

Aragorn remained silent for a time. He had girt Andúril in its new sheath about his waist.

"I do not wish to burden the others with this news," he said finally. "It will only cause them grief, especially the hobbits." He looked out upon the waters of the Silverlode, and then said in a low voice: "I wish there were another way."

"Do not fear," the Lady told him. "My people are leaving these shores, but there is still power enough to defend our borders. Go now and do not turn back." She looked at him then, and in her eyes was both sadness and joy. "I fear we shall not meet again, Elessar."

**XXX**

Aragorn was returning to the hythe where the Company waited when he heard the sound of heavy footfalls approaching. Turning suddenly he unsheathed his sword in anticipation, fearing the worst. Out of the thicket of trees behind him came suddenly an Elven scout. He bore an expression of utter terror.

"A shadow," he cried. "A shadow has come upon the land!" And it was some time before Aragorn could make any sense of his words.

The commotion soon attracted everyone's attention, and the elf was bade to sit down upon the grass by the water. Haldir came and spoke softly with him in the elven tongue, and after a moment he returned to the waiting Fellowship, who had now gathered near the boats. His face was grave.

"A winged shape was seen in the skies just an hour ago," he told them. "It swept up from the East and blotted out the sun."

Aragorn struggled to disguise the look of fear upon his face. The rest of the Company exchanged anxious glances; Frodo touched a hand to his breast, as though pained by an old wound. Galadriel and Celeborn stood nearby, but they said nothing.

"What was it?" asked Merry. His voice seemed very small.

"I do not know," said Haldir, "but it was driven away by a volley of arrows. We need not fear its return. At least, not for some time."

Aragorn avoided the eyes of the rest of the Company at these words. He had wished to remain silent on the matter for as long as was possible, but now there seemed no choice but to confess his knowledge. He looked towards Galadriel for guidance; she gave a quiet nod.

"It is a messenger of Sauron," Aragorn said with a sigh. "He seeks the Heir of Isildur, and a halfling who rides with him bearing the Ring of Power."

The Company looked at him in horror. Galadriel bowed her head.

"Sauron?" cried Pippin. "Sauron knows we are here?" He looked utterly horrified at the prospect.

"_Elbereth Gilthoniel!_" sighed Legolas. "How did _he_ discover us?"

Gimli put a hand to his axe.

"The Enemy might have guessed our path would lead us through the Golden Wood. The orcs of Moria pursued us thus far. But how does Sauron know that an heir of Isildur still walks among the living?"

Aragorn looked around at the Company; upon their faces he saw a mixture of shock, fear and confusion. In particular his eyes lingered on Frodo, who had not said a word since the news had broken.

"I looked in the Lady's mirror," murmured Aragorn, "and I was tempted to reveal myself to him, if only for a moment, but it was enough." He passed a hand over his face. "I am sorry. I have failed you all."

There was a long pause, and it seemed as though all of Lórien stood still and silent at his words. Boromir was the first to speak.

"Perhaps we were wrong to make you our leader," he said quietly.

"No," said Frodo, stirring suddenly. "We made a fair choice, as did Gandalf. Aragorn is leader of this Company, and we must trust in him no matter what. I know in my heart he shall not lead us astray."

Boromir gazed upon the hobbit in wonder.

"Lead us astray?" he cried. "The forces of Mordor shall soon be upon our trail! Perhaps you shall reconsider the matter when you are lying, bloodied and broken on the floor of Sauron's dungeons!"

"Enough!" cried Aragorn, coming in between the two. "Let us not war amongst ourselves! It was an error of judgment, and for that I am sorry, but it does not do to dwell on things that cannot be changed." He turned towards the shore, and then his eyes sought Celeborn and Galadriel, who lingered nearby but did not interfere. Boromir stepped back quietly, as though suddenly ashamed at his words. "Nothing must endanger our Quest," Aragorn said firmly. Then he turned back to the trees of Lórien; his hair was stirring in the breeze. "By night and day we must now travel. We can no longer trust in secrecy. I fear the eastern shores are already lost to us." Pausing a moment he seemed to dwell on some hidden thought, but soon turned from the Company and started for the boats. "Come. We must make haste."


	2. The Great River

_Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, favourited or simply added this story to their alerts. I really appreciate all the support ^_^ _

_In answer to the question about how dark this story will become – yes, I'm afraid there will be some character deaths, but I made sure that they were essential to the plot and not simply gratuitous for the sake of shocking readers. The further I strayed from Tolkien's canon, the more obvious it became that this wasn't going to be an easy ride for the characters, and that everything I changed would affect other events in complicated and unforeseen ways. Just one of the many reasons it has taken me several years to wrap my head around this story! _

_All credit goes to Peter Jackson for Aragorn's piece of dialogue about Gollum._

**XXX**

It was cold and dreary for many days. The Company spoke little as their boats drifted silently along the waters of the Anduin. An unspoken fear had settled upon their hearts since they had left the borders of Lórien behind, and now they passed easily along the swift current, longing for a break from the endless monotony of their journey. A starless night had descended. Aragorn guided the boats beneath the low branches of the western woods with strong strokes, but his face was troubled.

The Company was arranged into three boats, with Aragorn, Frodo and Sam in one boat and Boromir, Merry and Pippin in another; Legolas and Gimli brought up the rear. The hushed conversation of Merry and Pippin eventually drifted upon the night air and reached Aragorn. He frowned as he listened to their words. They were frightened about what lay ahead. The ranger would not admit it, but he shared their fears. Every hour that passed without further sighting of the Enemy made him anxious.

Frodo had drifted into an uneasy sleep behind him, but Sam was wide awake. The hobbit was still distrusting of their boats, despite his awe of the craftsmanship of the elves, and he jumped when a piece of driftwood gently knocked into the side of their boat. Aragorn was unmoved by the sound, and an exhausted Frodo slept on. Sam, however, pulled his cloak a little closer and shook his head.

"Like my old gaffer used to say," he muttered. "Water and hobbits don't mix."

There was a soft splash behind them. Sam turned and peered intently into the water, but he could not make out anything in the gloom which had settled upon the water.

"I'd swear there was a pair of eyes following us," he thought. "But then I could be seeing things. It was probably just a piece of driftwood."

Aragorn did not look back, but kept his head bowed to his task. The soft churn of his paddle soon settled into a dull rhythm, and an hour later Sam had drifted off to sleep.

**XXX**

Overcast skies loomed ahead and threatened rain the next day. The Company, glad for the chance to rest, camped upon a small eyot off the western shore. Casting himself upon the ground, spent from the toil of the last few days, Aragorn fell at once into sleep. He was awoken a few hours later by the sound of a hiss and a splash.

The ranger took up his sword and made his way to the bank, where he found Frodo sitting alone with his knees drawn up against his chest in the drizzling rain. His hood was cast over his face, and he held Sting in his hand. Its blade was dull.

"Did you hear something, Frodo?" Aragorn asked as he approached.

"Yes, I heard something." Frodo's voice was calm as he surveyed the water. The rain cast endless ripples across its surface. "We are being followed, Aragorn."

Quietly the ranger settled down beside Frodo, keeping his sword close to hand. A piece of driftwood was drifting languidly towards the far bank of the River, eddying upon the current. A small pair of hands clutched it, barely visible in the darkness.

"So you have noticed our little footpad, have you?" Aragorn kept his voice low. "He has tracked us since Moria. I had hoped we would lose him on the river, but he is too clever a waterman."

They both watched as the piece of driftwood came to rest amongst a tangle of brush upon the far bank. A pair of pale eyes glinted for a moment before Gollum slipped quietly into the water and disappeared.

Frodo gave a sigh, and then shivered and pulled his cloak a little closer.

"I don't like this feeling," he said. "It's as though I am sitting here, waiting for something terrible to happen. What if Gollum should creep into our camp and throttle us in the night? Or he might alert the Enemy to our whereabouts. They must be close by now."

Aragorn kept his eyes upon the River.

"I do not think he shall risk it. Remember, Frodo, that Gollum wants the Ring for himself. If he is in league with the Enemy then it is not out of choice." Content that Gollum was gone for the time being, the ranger turned and gave Frodo a rascally smile. "Besides, there is a certain ranger in this camp that he will not dare to cross twice."

Frodo returned his smile, if only for a moment. Then the hobbit fell silent. A gentle breeze stirred the water as they sat together and kept watch. The others remained asleep, sheltered beneath a thicket of trees from the falling rain.

"What did you see in the Lady's mirror?" Frodo asked suddenly.

Aragorn leant forwards, with his arms resting upon his knees. He reached out a hand and touched the Evenstar which hung at his neck.

"I saw many things," he said quietly. "Some were places I had visited long ago. But many more were terrible things. War, shadow, flame… I could not make out any faces, except for one."

Frodo looked at the ranger in surprise, and noticed that his eyes were fixed upon the pendant he wore at his neck. The hobbit did not need to ask of whom he spoke. The entire Company knew how he had suffered at their departure from Rivendell.

"Did you see it?" Frodo asked. His voice was an anxious whisper. "Did you see the Eye?"

Aragorn tucked the Evenstar back inside his shirt.

"Yes, I saw it," he replied. "And I dearly wish that I could unsee it. It haunts me still."

Frodo gave a nod. He gripped Sting a little tighter; water now ran down its hilt and dripped from his pale hand. His face was stern as he spoke: "I saw it myself, back in Bree, when the Ring slipped onto my finger. That was why I was trembling when you seized me by the collar."

By now Aragorn's hair was dripping wet from the light drizzle which continued to fall around them. He did not put up his hood.

"I guessed as much," said Aragorn with a slight smile. He turned to the hobbit. "I expect old Strider is not as frightening as he once seemed?"

"No, not at all," Frodo said with a laugh. "On the contrary, I find him a great comfort. We would not have gotten very far without him."

They fell silent for a moment. The only sound was the falling rain. Aragorn stretched out his long legs and gazed out upon the River; he soon fiddled with the ring upon his finger, entwined with two emerald serpents wrapping around and devouring one another.

"How I wish I could have remained hidden a little longer," he said with a sigh. "But it seems my long years of exile are finally over." He turned towards Frodo. "The Ringbearer and the heir of Isildur… We would make quite a prize, wouldn't we?"

Frodo seemed frightened by his words, but Aragorn simply stood up and clapped a friendly hand upon the hobbit's shoulder.

"I will let no harm come to you," he said firmly. "I swore to protect you." He gave Frodo a smile. "Keep Sting close if you wish. I am going to have a look around."

And he took up his sword and left Frodo alone with his thoughts, still huddled beneath his elven cloak now dripping with rain; a statue of stone in the gathering darkness.

**XXX**

A few days later they set up camp again in a quiet corner of woodland on the western bank. Frodo slept soundly, exhaustion having finally crept up on him, whilst Sam rested with his back to a grey-skinned tree, clutching his sword and staring into the fire. The others were asleep too; Legolas had left to lie upon the bank, and Aragorn sat in silence, sharpening his own sword.

Sam stirred a little. It was becoming harder for him to stay awake, and he had been fighting sleep for about an hour now. Aragorn gave a small laugh.

"You do not need to keep guard, Sam. I will watch over Frodo tonight."

Sam drew his sword a little closer, but he did not turn.

"I'm just worried about him, Strider. He's exhausted."

Aragorn lowered his whetstone.

"I understand," said the ranger, "but you must be exhausted too, Sam."

"I am," the hobbit admitted. "But I can keep myself awake a few hours more, for Mr. Frodo's sake. Besides, you don't look so good yourself, Strider, if you don't mind me saying."

Aragorn smiled.

"Not at all."

There was a small pause. Aragorn took up his whetstone again, and soon the sound of rock scraping against steel filled the clearing. Sam pulled his blanket higher about his shoulders. The breeze was cold that evening.

"I have to protect him, Strider," he said eventually. "And not just because I promised Gandalf and the Council that I would. I feel as though this story has taken a very dark turn. We will all have to make some hard choices soon, and my choice is this: I will follow Frodo to the end, into the very fires of Mordor if I have to." His face was stern as he spoke, and the dancing flames of the fire were reflected in his eyes. He turned towards the ranger for the first time. "Will you go to Minas Tirith?"

Aragorn put away his whetstone and began to wipe down his sword. Its blade was so keen that it flashed suddenly in the light of the fire.

"I once wished to take that road," he replied as he worked. "And I still do. But I have a feeling the Valar will not lead me there just yet." Aragorn lowered the cloth and then slowly sheathed his sword again. He laid it carefully upon his knees and ran his fingers over the scabbard that he had been given in Lórien. "I will protect Frodo, if I may. Even if it takes me along a path from which I do not return."

Aragorn was silent as he laid his sword down by his pack. Then he got up and strode over to the fire. It crackled greedily as he bent down and fed it another piece of firewood. Nearby Boromir stirred and turned over in his sleep. Aragorn noticed that the man muttered to himself as he slept.

"Will Boromir come with Frodo to Mordor?" asked Sam quietly.

Aragorn knelt for a while and stared into the flames. He shook his head as he stoked the fire.

"I do not think so. Boromir will return to the White City to speak to his father. The shadow of Mordor lies heavy over Minas Tirith." As Aragorn spoke a few sparks leapt from the fire; the ranger hissed and gave back as they burnt his hand.

Sam lowered his sword.

"Are you alright, Strider?"

Aragorn did not reply, however. His face was drawn with pain as he put a hand to his forehead. Suddenly the Eye of Sauron flashed into his mind. He gave a cry and stumbled back a few steps. Sam stood up in alarm and came to his side as the others slept on, unheeding.

"Strider, what's wrong?" he asked.

Aragorn drew a shaking hand across his brow. Sam saw with surprise that he was breathing heavily, as though he remembered an old pain. The ranger put a hand upon the hobbit's shoulder to steady himself.

"His messenger draws close," said Aragorn. His hand clenched Sam's shoulder tightly. "We are running out of time, Sam. I fear we shall not beat the Enemy to the falls of Rauros."

**XXX**

On the eighth day of their journey the skies above were windless and clear. Since his vision by the campfire Aragorn had urged the Company to travel faster, and so far they had not encountered any enemies as they passed through the desolate Brown Lands. He knew, however, that they were running on borrowed time. That morning, as they traveled down the River, Aragorn watched the flight of birds about the rockfaces with a growing sense of fear. Had Gollum been up to some mischief in the night?

About midnight, as they drifted along in silence, Sam suddenly gave a shout. Aragorn looked up with a start. Great shapes were looming out of the darkness; sharp rocks hewn into jagged teeth by the swirling currents. The rushing of fast water could be heard up ahead. The Company had to fight hard against the current to stop themselves from being caught upon the shoals of the eastern shore.

"Paddle hard!" cried Boromir. "There is no safe passage through Sarn Gebir by day or night!"

They had been traveling faster than Aragorn had realized, and come upon the rapids of Sarn Gebir in the dangerous hours when the darkness hid the pale waters raging ahead. The Company was so distracted as they battled the current that they did not notice the black figures moving upon the eastern shore. Suddenly there was a twang and a rush of air, and an arrow stuck hard into the side of Boromir's boat.

"_Yrch!_" cried Legolas.

Aragorn urged the hobbits to duck down as those paddling made desperately for the western shore. More arrows rained down around them as they pulled the boats around hard. Quickly Gimli took up a paddle as Legolas notched an arrow to his bow and strained for a target in the gloom. Soon Legolas' bow sang, and there was a shriek in the darkness.

"How many can you see?" said Aragorn.

"There are scores of them," cried Legolas over the rushing of the water. "And many more are hidden by the trees."

The elf aimed again, and slew two more orcs in the darkness. The current was hard, but not yet strong enough to defeat the Company. With a great effort they eventually reached the western shore, and sheltered beneath a thicket of bushes hanging over the water. Pippin peered over the edge of his boat as it came upon the shoals with a soft crunch. He could not make out the orcs moving about the eastern shore, but he could hear their terrible cries mingled with the rushing of Sarn Gebir.

The orcs continued to shoot arrows towards them, but none found their mark. Their sight was not so keen in the darkness, and the grey cloaks of Lórien defeated them. Aragorn breathed a sigh of relief, and Boromir lowered his paddle. But then a series of shrill cries came from across the water. A sudden dread fell upon the Company as a black shadow rose from the darkness; Frodo clutched a hand to his breast in pain. The shape was black, blacker than night, and it let out a fell cry as it passed across the light of the moon. Sam spied a creature with black wings and a monstrous neck and beak.

Under the cover of the hanging bushes Legolas notched another arrow to his bow and stood tall. The bow of Lothlórien sang; there was a tumult of cries from the eastern shore, and then a terrible shriek as the dark shape reeled into the sky and vanished from their sight. The moon was no longer veiled, and Frodo felt the pain in his shoulder subside until it was but a dull ache.

"Was that the same thing that the elves saw in Lórien?" asked Merry quietly.

"Yes," said Aragorn, looking back warily upon the eastern shore. The orcs seemed dismayed by the defeat of the creature and had ceased firing their arrows. "But I do not think we need fear it longer. Whatever it was, it was slain or at least wounded."

They were all silent for a moment.

"We must make haste," said Boromir, finally. "They may yet find some way to cross the River."

Aragorn tore his gaze away from the spot where the dark shape had fallen from the sky. He felt their eyes fall upon him, expecting an answer. Finally he said: "Boromir is right. Secrecy is of no use here. We must rest tonight and then make with all speed for the Falls of Rauros. There we can leave the boats and continue on foot. Let us hope that the current defeats them."

**XXX**

The next day the raging of Sarn Gebir was but a low murmur in the distance as the Company took to the River again by the edge of a shallow pool. They had been forced to carry the boats across the portage-way which acted as a safe route around the rapids, and a light fog still hung upon the water as they set off again after another rest.

Rain clouds descended mid-morning, but they soon cleared. A strong current began to bear their boats upstream.

"Hold tight to this course," said Aragorn. "Keep the boats steady."

Soon they ceased paddling, for the current was bearing them at ease, and sheer cliffs swept up before them on both sides. Suddenly there rose two towering columns of stone at the head of the ravine. As the boats approached Frodo peered forwards in wonder, for he saw that they were fashioned into the figures of kings. Great they were, rising like towers to meet him, and each held out a palm as a token of warning to travelers. Stern were their faces. Beyond them stretched the River until it finally plunged forth as Rauros and flowed swiftly towards the Sea.

"Behold!" cried Aragorn. "The Argonath, the Pillars of the Kings! Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old: my kin."

Awe and fear fell upon the Company as the boats passed through the narrow channel beneath the sentinels of Númenor. Aragorn looked long upon the weathered visage of Isildur, and his face was troubled. But as they passed through the Gates of the Argonath into what had once been the kingdom of the men of old, the shadow passed and he saw with keen sight, guiding the Fellowship onwards across the lake of Nen Hithoel until they reached the fair shores of Amon Hen.

The last stage of their Quest was upon them.

**XXX**

Aragorn took the first watch that night. For an hour or so he scouted the area as the others slept, but found it quite clear. Even Sting's blade remained dull. If he was to act, it would have to be soon. Before long Legolas would come to relieve him for the next watch, and the elf lay in a state of elven sleep from which he could easily awake at any time.

The ranger paused for a moment and gazed upon the eastern shore, which was now veiled in darkness. He did not wish to leave the Company unguarded even for a minute, but he would have to risk it if he was to give them their best chance of reaching the Emyn Muil unscathed. He now wished only to give Frodo safe passage into the East, or as safe as was possible in such times. Any other concerns were trivial.

Aragorn soon crept back towards the fire and took up his pack; Andúril was girt securely at his waist, and his weathered bow and a quiver of arrows he slung about his shoulders. Sam stirred a little in his sleep, and Aragorn froze where he stood in alarm. Thankfully, the hobbit simply turned over and did not wake. He was exhausted from keeping continuous watch over Frodo. Aragorn counted another minute before he allowed himself to turn again and carefully step among the sleeping figures to reach the edge of the campsite.

Just before the grass of Parth Galen gave way to the gravel of the shore there was a large rock, worn smooth by the ever-changing tides. Aragorn bent down before this rock and brushed the dirt carefully from its surface. Then he reached into the pocket of his shirt and withdrew a folded piece of parchment.

The elves had furnished the Fellowship with many gifts on their departure from Lórien, but Aragorn had secretly asked for a few sheets of parchment and a quill the night before they left. With these he had composed a letter for Arwen, which he had left with Galadriel for safekeeping, and also a short note. Both letters had caused him great pain to write. Aragorn unfolded the piece of parchment in his hands and looked over the note again. There were many things that he had wished to say, but in the end he had written only four lines. He hoped that they would suffice.

Quietly, Aragorn folded the note again and left it to rest upon the rock; he then raised his hands to his throat and unfastened the elven brooch which helped to secure his cloak across his shoulders. This he placed upon the note to stop it from blowing away upon the breeze, and to act as a token to prove that he had left this place of his own free will.

With shining eyes Aragorn stepped back into the camp and looked upon the sleeping Company one last time. Then he turned and with a sigh he was gone.


	3. The Fate of Many

_Well, if Aragorn's plan in this chapter took 'many days' to form, it took me a lot longer than that, I assure you! Going on what little was said about Amon Lhaw in the books I tried to write the location as realistically as I could, but a little creative license was necessary. And I couldn't resist using a clever title, teehee. If anyone is a fan of the Captain Alatriste books (Viggo Mortensen appears in the film), there is a nod to one of my favourite scenes from that series in this chapter. _

_Anyways, I apologize for the lateness of this – I'm trying to update this fic every two weeks or so, but I was away from home the last two weekends and couldn't get this chapter finished as usual. Add to that a huge case of writer's block and you can imagine my frustration! Ooh yes, and thanks to Ainu for the heads up about some dialogue in the last chapter; I've fixed it now ^_^_

_All credit goes to Tolkien for any recognizable lines._

**XXX**

Aragorn chose the better of the three boats hidden in the bushes nearby. He did not take any supplies other than his pack and his weapons; an elven-knife he had also in a sheath at his back, a gift from Celeborn the night before the Company set out from Lothlórien. Its blade shone keenly in the light of the moon as the ranger carefully pushed his boat out onto the pale surface of Nen Hithoel.

Pausing for a moment, Aragorn turned and looked back towards Amon Hen, where the Company was still asleep. He had managed to slip away from their camp unnoticed, although there lurked always in the back of his mind the fear that some evil thing might befall them in his absence. There had been many times since they had lost Gandalf in Moria that Aragorn had doubted his decisions, but the ranger knew that this time he had made the right choice; the hardest part had been to work himself up to the point where he was able to leave the Company. He would have preferred to pay each a proper farewell, especially Frodo, but Aragorn knew that if he had told any of his companions of his plan they would never have allowed him to pursue it alone. It was almost certainly a death sentence.

The elven boat slipped easily into the water, and Aragorn kept a steady hand upon its side as he waded out with it until the tide came up to his knees. The roaring of Rauros could be heard like thunder nearby, although the ranger could not see the falls in the darkling twilight. The frowning cliffs of Tol Brandir were nothing but a dark shape upon the horizon. Carefully Aragorn climbed into the elven boat and took up one of the leaf-shaped paddles lying at his feet; it was hard work for the ranger to drive the boat towards the far shore by himself, but once he had passed the swirling current around Tol Brandir he came swiftly upon the southern slopes of Amon Lhaw. There he hid the boat well behind a great boulder, and shouldered his pack before climbing the sudden rise and disappearing into the thicket of trees.

**XXX**

Amon Lhaw was awash with green, much like its twin summit upon the opposite bank. The last vestiges of winter still clung to the leaves above him, but spring was beginning to bloom as Aragorn walked purposefully through the woods; leaf litter rustled underfoot as he tightened his sword belt a little. He was not sure where the orcs might have made their camp, but he knew that it must be close. This was the last shore before the river plunged down as Rauros and flowed onwards to the Sea. They had to stop here in order to cross to the western shore, and it was here that Aragorn intended to head them off at the pass.

His going was slow at first, for darkness still lay heavy upon the land and the wood was dense, but soon the trees thinned and grass sprung up where there had once been stones. The land beneath his feet began to gently slope upwards, and Aragorn soon came upon the remnants of an old outpost of Gondor. Here beneath the trees there stood a crumbling archway crawling with lichen, and in the grass the broken pieces of a kingly statue now covered with fallen leaves. Aragorn studied the cloven head with a frown.

"How I wish I had walked here in the days of the kings," he thought, passing under the archway and running a hand over the lichen-covered stonework. "Now this fair place is naught but a shadow of old." His heart was rent by the thought of the lost glory of Gondor, and quickly he continued on.

Aragorn had always had keen sight in the dark, and every now and again he caught a glimpse of the stars shining from above the canopy of the wood. As he walked a wind stirred the trees about him, and nearby a flock of birds flew startled from their nest. The ranger paused for a moment, touching a hand to the hilt of his sword, but everything became still again. Eventually he continued on, a little more slowly this time. The land flattened again and the trees thinned to reveal a slight clearing. By the light of the moon Aragorn could spot the tell-tale signs of orcs here; footprints made by iron-shod boots, and mud which had been churned into a deluge by the march of a great host. There were other strange tracks in the undergrowth, however, which were much too light to have been made by orcs.

With a frown Aragorn stooped and brushed aside a drift of leaves; he knew these markings. He knew them very well indeed. He had spent more than a dozen years searching for them deep in the wilderness, often in vain, and they had proved nothing but a frustration and a curse to him. Now it seemed that they had returned to haunt him once again.

Suddenly a dark shadow moved in the corner of his sight. Aragorn slowly reached back and drew an arrow from the quiver at his back, taking care not to turn around or else reveal that he had heard anything untoward. Soon there was the sound of heavy breathing and the rustle of leaves to his left. Still in a crouching position, Aragorn took his bow down from his shoulders and notched the arrow to its string, pulling it taut in anticipation. Then he swiftly turned and loosed an arrow in the direction of the noise.

There was a sharp twang, and the arrow stuck quivering into a nearby tree. The shadow had moved again. Aragorn lowered his bow and listened intently. The sound of heavy breathing could be heard in the darkness, and soon the ranger sensed something approaching him from behind. He turned upon hearing a sharp hiss; something sprang towards him with a feral cry, and he quickly stepped aside and notched another arrow to his bow. The shadow disappeared into the trees. Aragorn lifted his bow, unheeding.

"I have neither the time nor the patience for your tricks, Gollum," he cried. "Reveal yourself!"

Nothing stirred the silence for a long time. Then there came suddenly the sound of muttering and angered hissing from behind him. Wearily, Aragorn lowered his bow and turned to meet his visitor.

It had been over a year since the ranger had caught the creature Gollum on the outskirts of the Dead Marshes, and the bite upon Aragorn's hand was now but a pale scar to remind him of the long and difficult task that Gandalf had set him so long ago. He had hoped never to look upon Gollum again; such had been his words at the Council, but now the wretched creature crept on all fours towards him. Gollum was nothing but a black shape in the darkness, with two pale gleaming lights for eyes. He sat back upon his scrawny haunches and let out a long low hiss.

"Where does he go to, precious?" muttered Gollum. "Where does he go sneaking off to in the darkness? Nassty, nassty shivery light." Gollum lifted his head upon its long neck and blinked at the moon, which was just visible above the trees. Then he cast his head down and fixed his gaze upon Aragorn again; his pale eyes were nothing more than two low slits of grey. "Yess. Yess. He must be in a hurry, precious. An awful hurry. There are orcs very near. They are looking for him. We have heard them talking, yess, always talking amongst themselves. They are looking for the precious."

Aragorn stood tall and studied the creature before him. His bow he slung back across his shoulders, returning the arrow to its quiver, and he placed a ready hand upon his sword. The sight of Gollum had always filled the ranger with a mixture of revulsion and pity, but at the moment he felt only alarm. Had Gollum been following him this entire time? Had he alerted the Enemy to his presence? Aragorn did not know the answers to any of these questions, so he measured his next words carefully.

"Do you remember our time together, Gollum?" Aragorn smiled as he spoke. "Yes, I am sure you do. But this time I have no orders to keep you alive. On the contrary, you are a danger to my companions and to me. I would advise you to leave this place, lest you wish to be slain. It has been many months since I last did battle, and my sword arm grows restless."

Gollum quailed and gave back a little at Aragorn's words. The ranger did not unsheathe his sword, but there was a fierce look in his eyes that told the creature he would deliver everything that he promised if challenged. Gollum fell sullen and crouched down very low.

"It mustn't speak to us like that," Gollum said. "All by my poor self I have been. Walked a very long way, through bad lands, _gollum_. Very long way. The precious is calling to me." He licked his lips then. "Nasty hobbitses stole the precious from me. Yess, they stole it from me, my precious. We wants it back."

Aragorn looked down on Gollum with impassive eyes. The creature was still wet from his journey down the river, and dirt and dead leaves clung to his skin; his lank hair fell disheveled across his face. Aragorn felt a stir of pity at the sight. Here before him was proof of what might happen to Frodo, or indeed to anyone who bore the Ring. He thought of Isildur, and the way in which the Ring had betrayed him to his death. He did not wish that fate upon friend or foe.

"The precious is in a safe place," said the ranger, after a moment. "It does not belong to you, Gollum, or to any but the Dark Lord himself. It is treacherous and shall lead you to your doom. I would advise you to forget about it."

Gollum suddenly opened his eyes very wide at these words. He paused and then said in a low voice: "What has it got in its pocketses?"

Aragorn's grip upon his sword hilt tightened a little. A strange light had come into Gollum's eyes, and it unsettled him greatly. The creature no longer crouched low upon the ground, but crept forwards a few paces, as if testing the ranger's resolve. Aragorn stood his ground and planted a foot. Gollum paused, a little too slowly for his liking, and settled down again. His eyes retained their strange light.

"What has it got?" Gollum said again. "What has it got in its pocketses?" His voice was now laced with anger.

Suddenly an alarming thought came into Aragorn's mind: "Gollum thinks I have the Ring! Well, perhaps I should have expected as much. It is all that he thinks about in his waking moments, and doubtless in his dreams as well. But there may be a way I can use this to my advantage. I must be very careful."

Aragorn released his grip upon the hilt of his sword. Gollum watched him carefully as the ranger carefully unsheathed his knife from its trappings at his back. He saw the hatred flash across Gollum's face as the creature recognized the elven markings along its blade. Aragorn then drew out the flint from the pouch at his belt; the next moment a series of sparks were dancing before his eyes, as he struck its edge against the blade of his elven-knife over and over again. The ranger gave a queer smile as he met Gollum's eyes.

"I seem to recall that you and Gandalf spoke together during your time in Mirkwood," he said, speaking slowly and deliberately. "Do you remember the nature of that talk?" The ranger scraped the flint against his knife again, and another spark flamed into being and then quickly died. Gollum sat transfixed before him, trembling slightly.

Once Aragorn knew that he had a captive audience, the ranger slowly rolled up the shirtsleeve on his left arm. Then he returned the knife to his belt and took out a match from the pouch at his belt. It was one of his last ones; he had been rationing them carefully, although he had been finding himself in need of a pipe and a think more and more often over the last few days. He had foregone his usual smoke that evening. Carefully Aragorn struck the match against the flint in his hand; it sparked to life and then burnt with a strong orange flame. Aragorn smiled again and held it up for Gollum to see. The dancing flame flickered hungrily before the ranger's icy gaze.

"Watch," said Aragorn. His voice was almost a whisper. Gollum's eyes were now fixed upon the flickering match. It stirred in him evil memories of threatening questions and old torture. His splayed hands twitched a little as Aragorn regarded him for a moment, motionless and quiet. Then the ranger spoke very softly: "Gollum…"

Suddenly Aragorn held the match against his own arm. He set his jaw as his grip upon the flint in his hand stiffened; yet his eyes were upon the trembling Gollum before him as the flames began to lick greedily at his flesh. A horrible sizzling noise filled the night air.

"Just imagine," said the ranger in a low voice, full of menace. "If I am prepared to do this to myself, then what do you expect I will do to you?"

Gollum was now shaking uncontrollably with terror; the light of his grey eyes was quenched. Aragorn did not betray any emotion as he held the creature's gaze for a very long moment. The match continued to burn strongly, and the veins in the ranger's arm stood out rigid in pain as the flesh there slowly burnt.

Gollum flustered for a moment, and then he stumbled back several steps; the next moment he turned and blindly fled into the trees with a piteous cry. The sound was quickly swallowed up as Gollum disappeared into the thicket of the wood. Aragorn did not stir as he watched him go. Soon the clearing fell silent.

When Aragorn was convinced that Gollum had gone, he pinched the burning end of the match between his fingers and put out its flame. Then he cast away the spent match and studied his arm with a grimace. An angry red mark, about the size of a gold coin, had appeared along the scorched skin of his forearm, just above the crook of his elbow. Aragorn had not dared thrust the match any lower or it would have affected his grip upon his sword, but this wound would still bring him much pain if aggravated.

He returned the flint to his belt. Then carefully Aragorn pushed his shirtsleeve a little higher past his elbow, and reached down to tear a strip of black cloth from the underside of his shirt. He still had a canteen of water at his belt, and was able to rinse the wound a little with its contents. It was hard work cleaning the wound thus and dressing it with only one hand, and Aragorn was soon forced to lean back against a nearby tree as he tied the last few knots with his teeth.

Soon enough it was done, however, and Aragorn gently pulled his shirtsleeve down again, making sure that this makeshift bandage stayed in place. Then he checked that his bow was secure across his shoulders before setting off again in the direction of the tracks upon the ground, keeping his senses alert to the gaze of any more unfriendly eyes.

**XXX**

Turning southeast, Aragorn came swiftly through the rowan-trees along an old path now overthrown with thickets. It had been some time since his encounter with Gollum, and although he had not again encountered any sign of the creature Aragorn remained cautious, with one hand upon his sword. He would need to remain hidden a little while longer in order to execute his plan.

There was a great rushing sound as the wind stirred the trees about him. Even without his tracking skills it would have been easy for Aragorn to stumble upon the orcs' trail. They were not discreet in their passing, and he guessed their host to be very large; much larger than he had expected. The ground was covered with fresh tracks left by their heavy footfalls, and many of the branches which hung over the ruined path were broken or had been hacked away with swords in order to clear a route. Soon the hill began to slope upwards, and Aragorn came upon steep stairs cracked by tree roots which led him up towards the summit of Amon Lhaw. As he pressed on the skies above were beginning to lighten with the first tinges of dawn; Legolas would awake to relieve him very soon. Aragorn hurried on.

It was not long before he was within sight and sound of the orcs' camp. The trees had thickened again, and then thinned out before a sudden break; beyond was a clearing which opened out upon the dark vault of the sky. The ground here sloped upwards before it fell away before thick wood again. Aragorn paused and crouched low in the underbrush, studying the scene carefully.

The trees swept around before him in a shape resembling a horseshoe. Within this space was a set of weathered stone ruins and a large company of orcs; scores of the foul creatures sat or stood about the camp, quarreling amongst themselves in their foul tongue or else casting themselves upon the ground to seek rest after their long march. A crumbling battlement was set at the summit of this rise, paved with many flags, and Aragorn saw the remnants of steps and of a stone seat set upon four carven pillars. This was the Seat of Hearing, on Amon Lhaw, and had of old been a watch post of the northern borderlands of Gondor. It was said that he who sat in the Seat of Seeing upon Amon Hen could see clearly for many miles around; Aragorn knew not the exact powers that the Seat of Hearing possessed.

Quietly Aragorn crept forwards and peered out from behind a tree, with one hand upon its trunk. He had hunted these creatures for many years, in the company of the Northern Rangers or with his brothers during their quests of errantry in the Wild, but amongst this camp were orcs that he had never encountered before. They were tall, much taller than he knew that orcs could be, and they did not seem phased by the encroaching light of day. They laughed at their fellow orcs, who cursed the dawn and took shelter amongst the crumbling ruins; the huge black creatures threw pieces of stale bread in their direction as the others attempted to bow their heads and catch some fleeting moments of sleep.

With inscrutable eyes Aragorn gauged their numbers. He knew without needing to count them that this company of orcs totaled at least a hundred; perhaps double that figure. The ranger turned and leant back against the tree trunk. His wound was paining him greatly. He closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer to the Valar.

His plan was this, as far as he could make it: he would create the illusion that the orcs were being attacked by an army of foes whilst he remained hidden in the wood. Then he would send them into panic by setting fire to the trees around them, and slay as many as possible in the resulting confusion; if possible, he would draw them away from this place and lead them far from the western shore. After that, Aragorn had no idea what he might do. He did not wish to think too far ahead.

For many days this desperate plan had formed in Aragorn's mind, until he had thought about it long and hard enough to entertain the idea that he might actually accomplish it, with a small amount of luck at least. But now that he looked upon the immense host before him, his faith in his plan was greatly shaken.

Gently Aragorn touched a hand to the Evenstar at his neck. It was a clear sign of his desperation that he was prepared to put himself in such danger, but Aragorn had to keep the attention of these orcs on him and away from the western shore at all costs. He also had to convince the orcs of the same thing he had just convinced Gollum: that he was in possession of the One Ring. Aragorn was not sure how much these orcs knew about the nature of the weapon they had been sent in hunt of, so he would have to be very careful what he revealed to the Enemy.

The safety of the Quest depended upon it.


	4. Aragorn's Reckoning

_I wasn't expecting to update this fic again before the New Year, but in the process of writing this chapter I realised it was getting far too long! So in the end I was forced to split it into two parts; hopefully the overall flow won't be ruined too much. I'm wary of overdosing everyone on evil cliffhangers, but I enjoy writing them far too much, teehee._

_This chapter is quite shamelessly based upon the awesome fight scene upon Amon Hen from the movies. Any recognizable lines, as always, belong to Tolkien. Merry Christmas everyone!  
_

**XXX**

The leaf litter beneath his feet rustled a little as Aragorn turned aside and shrugged his pack and his bow and quiver from his shoulders. Gently he laid them down against the tree trunk, counting half a dozen arrows remaining in his quiver; each was fletched with a black feather. He carefully checked his bow string next before reaching to the scabbard at his back and drawing his knife. Aragorn smiled as he traced the elven letters along its curving blade:

_Foe of Morgoth's realm._

Through the trees ahead Aragorn watched as the orcs began to build a campfire. He could tell from a glance that this company was made up of several different contingents, for some creatures he recognized as the goblins which the Fellowship had fought in the darkness of Moria; still others were taller creatures who did not stand so hunched and carried weapons of more industrial design. It was easy enough to identify the leader of the company. One of the large black orcs was busy barking orders at a group of others. They had not been here long, as Aragorn had suspected, and were settling down to rest after their long march. At least this gave him a small advantage.

As he watched several orcs took up their axes and broke off from the main party, heading into the surrounding trees. Aragorn knew that they were going off in search of firewood. Quickly he hid his pack and his bow and quiver in the underbrush, and then reached up and slipped the Evenstar back inside his shirt, fastening the top button so that it was hidden from view.

Aragorn blessed his luck as he set off, for the wind that day was not strong and was unlikely to give him away even if it changed direction. He stayed very low as he made his way through the trees on his left towards the nearest orc, stepping carefully to avoid making much noise. The lone creature began hacking at a rather weathered tree before him. Aragorn waited for the orc to take another swing at one of its twisted branches. As the creature's axe head became embedded in the wood with a dull crunch the ranger sprang forwards.

The orc did not even have a chance to cry out as Aragorn violently slashed the creature's throat. It slumped backwards suddenly as dead weight against him, and he struggled to hold it upright as he dragged it further into the cover of the trees. His heart was pounding as he eased the body down onto the ground and stopped to listen for any noises coming from the camp.

There was no sudden uproar; he had not been spotted. With a grimace, Aragorn stepped over the dead orc at his feet and studied the carcass. This was one of the creatures that he did not recognize. The orc had mottled red-and-black skin and yellow eyes, its face now twisted in a grotesque mask of pain. It was wearing crude armour of stained leather and had white sigils imprinted upon its face and neck; black blood poured from its ruined throat and dripped steadily onto the forest floor. It stained Aragorn's hands ashen as the ranger crouched down and took his knife to its limbs.

In this fashion Aragorn slew four more creatures who had left the company in search of firewood, and soon took up his pack and his bow and quiver again and came through the trees unnoticed onto the western side of the camp. There he crouched low behind a tree upon the edge of the camp and pulled down the hood of his cloak so that it overshadowed his face; his eyes were gleaming as he reached into his pack and brought out a small vial of lamp oil.

Haldir had given the ranger this gift the night before the Company had left Lothlórien. It was the same oil he and his brothers used to light the lamps they wielded in their _flet_ near the falls of Nimrodel, and was very precious; perhaps Haldir had sensed something of Aragorn's thoughts, for as he gave the ranger this gift he had warned Aragorn to use the contents of this vial wisely and not without great thought.

Aragorn felt a stir of remorse at what he was about to do, but he soon dismissed it as he looked again upon the host of orcs through the trees ahead. There was no time to question the wisdom of his plan: he had run out of options.

Quickly the ranger tore several strips from the underside of his shirt and soaked them with the lamp oil that Haldir had given him. Then he worked quickly and bound each arrowhead with one of these rags, lashing them together with the ties taken from the front of his leather jerkin. Once he had finished Aragorn returned all but one of these arrows to his quiver and slung it back across his shoulders along with his pack; the remaining arrow he notched to his bow in readiness, waiting for his moment.

**XXX**

Without anything with which to stoke the fire, the remaining orcs quickly noticed the disappearance of those who had been sent off in search of fuel. There was a great racket as the scouts were sent to investigate and discovered each dismembered corpse lying beneath the trees, with elven letters carved roughly into their flesh. The orcs had no idea what these letters meant, but it did not matter greatly; they recognized the language of their enemies.

Confusion and anger broke out in the camp as Aragorn watched almost motionless from the trees. A tiny flame flickered in the shadows as he struck a match and set it to the soaked rag bound about his arrow. It smoked dully for a moment before catching alight and burning with a strong flame. With a smile, Aragorn cast away the match and carefully raised his bow and pulled the bowstring taut. It was not until he saw the large black orc get to his feet that the ranger took aim at the far side of the camp and loosed the flaming arrow.

Aragorn darted into the trees on his right and sought higher ground. With a sharp thud the arrow smote the trunk of a thick tree near the site of the first carcass and exploded into flame.

The goblins in the company were not afraid of fire, but in this tense group a surge of panic suddenly broke out. Many thought that some powerful elven army was attacking their camp, and as another arrow set two more trees ablaze there was an awful clamour and many broke off and fled into the wood.

From his hidden place in the trees Aragorn took up his bow again and brought down those unfortunate few who crashed blindly into the wood towards him. Fear quickly spread across the camp as the orcs realised there was no escape; most thought that they were under attack by an innumerable enemy who moved like a shadow and might turn the entire forest into a raging inferno about them. Those who fled into the trees towards Aragorn were quickly slain, but those who stayed might fall prey to the blazing arrows which whistled at moments from the trees and brought sparks gushing down upon their heads.

His plan was going well, but Aragorn knew that this siege could not last forever; he was fast running out of arrows, and already some of the larger orcs were ordering others to put out the fires and managing to restore some semblance of order. Acrid smoke began to consume the area, and Aragorn pulled his hood a little lower as he made his way unnoticed through the trees and rounded the edge of the camp. Between him and the main host now stood the Seat of Hearing, and he slung his bow back over his shoulders and emerged quietly into the open. Here he quickly slew two stray orcs with his elven-knife and climbed the rise upon which the Seat was built. Cautiously Aragorn peered out from the shadows of the crumbling stone structure.

Their host was still great, but now their numbers were fewer and less ordered. Many orcs lay dead beneath the trees: some had succumbed to fire, whilst others had been slain by the large black orcs to try and restore some peace. The Seat of Hearing stood forgotten amidst all of this commotion, save for a lone sentry who stood at the summit of the steps with his bow raised, attempting to spot their attacker from on high.

Aragorn returned his elven-knife to his belt and quietly sprang forth from behind the Seat. Before the sentry even had a chance to turn he had drawn Andúril from its sheath. Suddenly there was a flash like flame. The orc before him fell to the ground with cloven head.

From amidst the creature's ruin strode Aragorn, and he cast back his hood and raised his sword before him. Tall he now stood upon the uppermost summit of Amon Lhaw, and he towered above the company of orcs even as the rising sun smote the rise behind him. His figure was half veiled with smoke.

"Behold!" he cried in a loud voice. "Here is the Blade that was Broken, Andúril, Flame of the West!" And Aragorn held his sword up to the light of the dawn. The orcs saw that it shone with fresh blood, and many of them were filled with dismay. "I have come now to reclaim this land, as it was of old of the kingdom of Gondor, but has now fallen under the shadow of Mordor; for I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's heir of Gondor!"

There were many among the company who had heard rumour of such, but still others who had not. Some had traveled from Moria simply to avenge their slain kin, and knew nothing of long lost swords or of fallen kings. Those from Mordor and Isengard had orders to waylay a company that was traveling down the Anduin and to capture halflings and a man of high birth. They knew to recognize him by the elvish weapons that he carried.

The large black orc came forwards, who Aragorn had rightly guessed to be their captain. He was not wearing a helm, and his long black hair fell across broad shoulders covered in crude armour plating; the same white sigil Aragorn had seen on the dead orc was imprinted upon his face. In his hand he held a crude scimitar stained with dark blood; obviously he was quick to enforce discipline when he deemed it necessary.

"I am Lurtz," said the orc in a terrible voice, "and we are the fighting Uruk-hai! We came to burn the cursed woods of Lórien and take Isildur's heir and the halflings, but now it seems our prize has come to us."

Many of the orcs jeered at his words. Aragorn did not blench; he gave a queer smile.

"It is true I took refuge in Lórien for a time," said the ranger. "The hearts of elves are easily swayed, but I neither seek nor want for companionship. And what is this you say of halflings?" He laughed. "They are weaker even than elves. There were few, and I slew them in the night. Their bodies I gave to the River. Rauros has sent them on to the Sea." And such was his revealed majesty that many of the orcs took fright and thought his every word to be true. "I hold now in my keeping the weapon of the Dark Lord, as those of my line did before me. It shall be an heirloom of my City, and against the blade of Narsil no foe shall prevail."

The ranger's words caused great doubt amongst those gathered, for they knew that one of the company they pursued carried something of great value which was needed for some elvish plot. Now they wondered what such a weapon could be, and what power the descendent of kings might wield with it in his grasp. Some gave back even as others took up their blades and their bows, but Lurtz would have none of it.

"Put up your weapons!" he cried, giving those gathered a fierce look. "Let's not waste our arrows. We are to bring him back _alive _and _unspoiled_, or have you forgotten?" At his words the others grumbled even as they lowered their weapons; Lurtz turned back to Aragorn and gave a hideous smile which revealed jagged teeth. "You may watch if you like, but this is my fight. Leave the filthy _tark _to me."

Hesitantly the others obeyed and shrank back as their captain rushed up the steps of the Seat towards Aragorn. With a hideous yell he sprang forwards and swung his scimitar straight at the ranger's head; Aragorn leapt back and barely caught the blow with the edge of Andúril's blade.

Both swords rang keenly. The two stared at each other a moment, eyes flashing and weapons locked. Lurtz was not intimidated by the sword of kings. With great strength he drove back Aragorn's blade and bore the ranger backwards. Aragorn leapt back and barely dodged a fierce sweep of his foe's sword. Another he ducked and matched with a glancing blow which caught Lurtz across the torso. The orc grunted in pain but did not falter; his armour was thick. He drove an iron-shod boot into Aragorn's side and drove the ranger to the ground.

The other orcs gave harsh cries of amusement. Hot anger rose up inside him as Aragorn struggled again to his feet. Suddenly he charged forwards and dealt his enemy a series of fierce blows. The last caught Lurtz on the right side and hewed away his arm. The orc's scimitar fell ringing upon the stone, and Aragorn passed his sword with a thrust through the creature's chest. Andúril flashed again as Aragorn leapt back and swept off Lurtz's head with a desperate cry.

There was a dead silence across the camp. Lurtz's head fell to the ground with a hollow thud, the face twisted with pain beneath its long black hair. The headless body soon followed with a heavy slump. Andúril shone again with fresh blood; Aragorn's hands were covered with it. He turned to face his enemies below, breathing heavily from the effort. His eyes gleamed with a smouldering fire.

"Begone!" the ranger cried. "I reclaim now this land for Gondor. Go back to the shadows from whence you came!" He gave them another queer smile. "Begone, or I shall slay any who stand in my way. Thou shalt not stand against your king so armed."

**XXX**

The orcs hesitated long at the sight of Aragorn standing tall before them, his sword raised and shining with fresh blood; the blood of their captain. There was now no doubt among those gathered that the heir of Isildur indeed walked among the living. It seemed to them that a white flame flickered on the brows of Aragorn like a shining crown, and many of the orcs cowered in fear at this image of the kings of old, revealed in his power and majesty.

Very soon, however, their rage and bloodlust conquered all, and the orcs came forward with great speed to try his blade. Aragorn fought them fiercely and slew many with ease, for as he stood high upon the Seat they were forced to come towards him one by one up the narrow steps. Andúril flashed like living flame as it slashed through thick hide and armour alike, and the orcs before him fell with many a hideous shriek.

Even as he fought Aragorn knew that he could not hold these creatures off for very long; he was tiring quickly, and already some of the wiser orcs were breaking away from the main host to climb the rise and ambush him from behind. Swiftly Aragorn kicked the chest of the orc advancing upon him, causing the creature to stumble and fall backwards down the steps, taking out his followers in one fell swoop. Then he turned to meet those climbing the rise behind him.

Aragorn slew many of their number before they could gain a proper footing. Andúril fell upon the helm of one creature and burnt it asunder with a crack; dismayed by his ferocity, the others fell back for a moment. Aragorn managed to run his sword through one of the larger orcs before turning aside and making for the edge of the Seat. As he looked down to the camp below he saw that many more of the creatures had swarmed around the stone structure, cutting off any chance of an escape. Behind him the others had regrouped and were rushing up the steps towards him with harsh cries; now was the time for the ranger to execute the next part of his plan.

Gathering his remaining strength, Aragorn ran for the edge and leapt from the Seat with a cry of: "Elendil!"

He crashed violently into his enemies, landing with a great clash of weapons and armour. Even before he could climb to his feet many more rushed at him to take advantage of his vulnerable condition. Quickly Aragorn raised his sword and thrust it through the belly of an orc who sprang upon him; he was forced to kick its body away and leap to his feet as more creatures came at him.

They were closing in around him again and he knew it. Although he had taken out perhaps two dozen of their host they still outnumbered him greatly. If he was not careful he would be surrounded and cut down where he stood. Aragorn dodged a series of desperate blows and slashed the throat of one of the Moria goblins with a back-handed blow; another he slew with a hard thrust across the torso. Then he broke away and swiftly fled from the battle, heading not for the trees where he had first emerged but instead climbing the sudden rise and plunging into the thick wood at the other end of the clearing.

Undaunted, the orcs abandoned their camp and came after him with raucous cries. The western shore was the last thing upon their minds as they crashed blindly through the trees behind him, growling and baying for the ranger's blood.


	5. The Falls of Rauros

_This is it – the chapter which was prompted by that initial plot bunny so many years ago. And yes, it ends on probably the most evil cliffhanger I have ever wrote; I don't want to spoil this story, but I will emphasize the fact that Aragorn is my favourite character in the entire trilogy. Unfortunately, along with Tolkien's writing style, I also set myself the difficult task of mimicking his narrative structure, so I will move away from this scene for a little while to focus on the remaining members of the Fellowship. But have hope! ^_^_

_All credit goes to Tolkien for any recognizable lines._

**XXX**

Dawn had now broken upon the land.

Black smoke rose steadily in the distance, and the sky seemed to darken as it mingled with the clouds above. The wood was almost silent as Aragorn ran beneath the trees, his long strides sending drifts of dead leaves cascading to the ground in his wake. He was breathing heavily from the effort of battle, and blood ran steadily from his mouth. Angrily he raised a hand and touched it to his face; one of the orcs must have caught him with a blow, or else he had been injured during his fight with Lurtz. In the heat of battle he had not realised he had suffered hurt.

The cries of the orcs became more and more distant with every step that he took. Aragorn knew this country better than they; he had traveled these shores before, and the orcs were exhausted from their long march. The ranger maintained a speed lent by urgency and plunged swiftly through the trees, weaving here and there to create an erratic trail that would be difficult for his enemies to follow. Andúril shone still with black blood in his hand.

If he could keep up this pace, the ranger's plan was now to double back upon himself and return the way that he had come. Then he would take the boat or else swim across the river and rejoin the Company upon the western shore; in this way he hoped that the orcs would not catch his scent. If he was discovered before he could slip away, however, Aragorn would simply lead his enemies further into the trees. He could not risk leading them straight towards Frodo and the others, no matter how much he wished to rejoin the Company. It all depended on whether he could escape this place unnoticed.

The cries of the orcs had all but faded away by now; Aragorn slowed his pace a little and allowed himself a chance to recover his strength. Still he remained alert as he went, with Andúril still ready in his hand. He hated running from these orcs, but their numbers were simply too great; he was lucky to have escaped from battle with them practically unscathed. Luck had been on his side this day.

Aragorn touched a hand to the Evenstar, still hanging hidden beneath his shirt. He smiled to himself as he ran. The first part of his plan had worked even better than he had expected. All he had to do now was to keep a safe distance from the orcs as he led them far away from their camp and into the eastern ridge of the Emyn Muil.

**XXX**

As time passed the trees began to gradually thin around him. Aragorn was now approaching the difficult terrain around the head of the Falls of Rauros. Soon the ground became rocky and the grass disappeared, giving way to a sudden clearing. The land here rose steeply and then dropped away as a sheer cliff; there were still sparse trees here and there, some with their roots clinging to the rocky outcropping which plunged down next to the falls, but for the most part the land was open to the sky. Aragorn slowed his pace again and emerged into the clearing, Andúril at his side.

Rauros roared loudly nearby and threw up misty spray which shrouded the land. As Aragorn climbed the rise and paused at its summit he could now discern the lands stretching far below him; lands he had traveled widely upon many quests and errantries. Eastward he looked and saw the forest of Mirkwood, its eaves still veiled by the shadow of Dol Guldur; northward he saw the River wind away like a ribbon through the lands of Gondor and on towards the sea. To the west the plains of Rohan stretched for many leagues before him, now blighted by burnt homesteads and abandoned villages. Southward the dark cliffs of Tol Brandir rose out of the gloom like the hull of a great ship wrecked upon the crest of the falls; the western shore remained veiled to his sight.

Aragorn hesitated in his steps, studying the land before him. His arm was growing tired, and he soon returned Andúril to its sheath. Even over the din of the falls the ranger could not hear any sounds of pursuit behind him; the orcs had yet to pick up his trail. Perhaps he might escape them yet after all.

The ranger continued on again, remaining alert to his surroundings. Rauros grew louder as he approached the falls, but it was the only sound that Aragorn could hear. The clearing was silent; even the birds and beasts seemed disturbed by some presence. Only an hour ago Aragorn had seen gulls wheeling above the cliffs of Tol Brandir. Now they were nowhere to be seen.

His grip tightened upon Andúril's hilt as he continued through the clearing, his senses alert. Each time Aragorn took a step he heard, or thought that he heard, quick footsteps behind him. The ranger stopped, straining to hear the fleeting sound again over the din of the falls. It was not the orcs; they were nowhere in sight. That left only one option.

Aragorn unsheathed his sword with a cry and turned to face his enemy: it was Gollum. The creature had been determined to sneak up on the ranger unnoticed, and when he saw he had been caught Gollum paused with fright; he was crawling upon the ground on all fours. Suddenly he gave a hiss and looked up at the ranger with hatred in his eyes.

"We hates him precious," Gollum muttered. "We hates him. He ties us up, and gives us to nasty Elves." Gollum's voice sank very low: "Orcses. We hates them too, but we knows they hunts him. We wants him to suffer. Yes, suffer, precious. He has taken something which does not belong to him, _gollum_. My precious…"

And with a feral growl Gollum suddenly sprang upon Aragorn and sank his teeth deeply into the ranger's arm. Aragorn cried out in agony; Gollum had bitten him upon his left forearm, right where he had set a march to his flesh earlier. For a moment Gollum hung onto Aragorn with all of his strength, growling in his madness, but the ranger soon recovered his senses and seized Gollum about the neck, hauling him off with great effort and casting him roughly to the ground.

Gollum fell and sprawled uselessly upon the ground, dazed from the force of the ranger's throw. Aragorn bit back another cry as he clasped a hand to his inflamed wound; blood now ran steadily towards the ranger's wrist, and sharp pains shot down the length of his arm. Somewhere in the distance the cries of approaching orcs became apparent. They might have heard Aragorn's cry, or else caught the scent of fresh blood upon the wind; perhaps they had sensed both.

Blinded by his pain, Aragorn turned towards Gollum and raised his sword with his good arm; he cradled the other against his side. Gollum began to scramble backwards on all fours, whimpering at the fierce look on the ranger's face.

"I gave you a chance, Gollum!" Aragorn cried, his eyes wild with anger. "I showed you mercy. I gave you a chance to leave this place alive. Now you may have killed us both."

Gollum did not answer, but kept blindly scrambling until his back hit a tree. Aragorn, however, was not about to let the creature escape a second time. He strode forwards until the tip of Andúril's blade rested at Gollum's throat. His shoulders were heaving with anger, and his arm trembled even as he battled to keep it steady.

"Bilbo showed you mercy," the ranger said. "Gandalf showed you mercy also. I spared you a third time when you should have been killed, Gollum. I shall not make the same mistake again. I warned you that the Ring would lead you to your doom."

Gollum was now trembling with fear, his splayed hands scrabbling desperately at the tree trunk behind him; he could not move for the sword tip at his throat. Aragorn looked deep into the creature's eyes, no longer stirred by pity. Andúril shone brightly as he drew back to strike.

Suddenly an arrow whistled past the ranger and quivered where it had stuck in the tree beside him, barely inches from his head. Aragorn leapt back in alarm, lowering his sword; Gollum took the opportunity to scramble up the tree to safety with a desperate cry. The ranger did not chase after him; he simply turned to face his enemies in resignation.

The orcs seemed to appear all at once before him, looming suddenly from the mists. They were still some distance across the clearing, and Aragorn returned his sword to its sheath and notched an arrow to his bow. The din of the falls now seemed as nothing compared to their raucous cries. Aragorn let loose an arrow and it stuck in a black throat. In an instant, he was already pulling back the bowstring again and another orc fell with a choked cry. His arrows were spent. Aragorn flung down his bow and empty quiver and drew Andúril again.

"Have I not killed enough of you already?" he cried.

Andúril flashed in his hands as the ranger stood his ground, watching as the orcs rushed towards him. He recalled the words of their captain, Lurtz, as he waited for them to come. The orc had said their orders were to bring the ranger back alive and unspoiled. As Aragorn watched the orcs rushing towards him, however, he wondered whether or not these creatures would honour the wishes of their fallen captain.

**XXX**

Everything seemed to slow as Aragorn raised his sword and held it up before his eyes. He heeded not the orcs rushing towards him as he muttered soft lines of elvish to himself. The foremost orc growled fiercely as it swung its blade at Aragorn's head. The ranger turned and dodged this blow, raising his own sword and cutting into his enemy's shoulder. He quickly spun and wrenched his weapon free; the orc howled in pain as Aragorn turned and slew another. The second orc fell with cloven head.

Aragorn slew many in his desperation, kicking away each carcass and wrenching his sword free with renewed fury. Andúril flashed again and again as he brought it down upon the heads of his enemies; its blade was stained black with their blood. He could not keep up this pace for long, however, and soon the ranger stumbled in his weariness. A jagged blade cut across his shoulder, and he let out a cry of pain.

Turning aside, Aragorn brought up his sword and ran it through the orc who had dealt him the blow; the creature let out a fell shriek and slumped dead to the ground. Aragorn quickly fled to higher ground. He did not get far before he was forced to come to a stop.

He found himself at the edge of the cliff looking down upon the foaming waters of Rauros. The rush of the falls shook the stones beneath his feet and stirred his hair. Quickly Aragorn turned again to face his enemies; they now seemed to come at him from all sides. His chances of escape were hopeless, for he was backed up right against the edge of Rauros. Behind him its raging waters plunged down to unfathomable depths.

In that moment Aragorn feared that he would never come to meet the Company again. His hope of rejoining them had all been in vain, but deep down he had known all along that he might never return to the western shore. Now he must trust in Legolas and hope that the Company would do all that they could to help Frodo fulfill his quest. The Ring must be borne away far from this place; it mattered not what the sacrifice would be to secure this.

A distant memory stirred in Aragorn at that moment, and he recalled the words that he had spoken to Frodo at the Council of Elrond so many months ago:

"_If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will_."

As the orcs rushed towards him Aragorn knew exactly what he must do. With a cry he raced forwards to meet those in front of him, ducking a blow and hewing at the legs of one; another he slew with a swift thrust through the chest. Even as he fought his shoulder throbbed numbly, and blood continued to seep through his torn shirtsleeve from the wound that Gollum had bitten earlier. Each arc and thrust of his sword became more laboured as exhaustion set in, but the ranger fought on in desperation. He had no other choice.

As Aragorn wrenched his sword free from another dead orc a blow was dealt across his back; he stumbled and fell heavily upon his knees, and Andúril fell ringing to the ground. The weapon was soon lost in the mass of bodies around him. Undaunted, he reached for the elven-knife at his back and stabbed one of his foes in the thigh. The creature howled with pain as Aragorn wrenched the knife free and blindly lunged at another, catching one orc across the chest. Black blood soon filled his senses; he stumbled backwards and clambered to his feet, breathing heavily, the elven-knife dripping with fresh blood. He could not see Andúril anywhere.

Despite his ferocity the orcs just kept on coming. Aragorn saw, however, that those with bows were not preparing to shoot them. Instead they were brandishing only their swords, and each blow seemed designed to disable rather than kill. They were not trying to kill him as he had suspected; they could have shot him dead in an instant. They were only trying to lay hands on him. He was to be brought to Sauron alive after all.

As Aragorn considered this unsettling thought he caught a glimpse of his sword lying upon the ground nearby. His heart leapt at the sight and he swiftly ran towards it; desperately he threw his knife and slew one of the orcs as it rushed towards him, trying to cut him off before he reached it. He leapt over the orc as it fell and practically threw himself upon the ground, grasping vainly for Andúril's hilt, but the weapon was just out of his reach. The others fell upon him with triumphant cries. It was the opportunity that they had needed.

Long arms reached out to seize him and pressed Aragorn firmly to the ground, pinioning his left arm at his back. With a grunt the ranger tried again to reach for his sword with his free hand, but an iron-shod boot suddenly stamped down upon his fingers. Aragorn cried out with pain. Another hard blow caught him across the head and side, and he struggled to remain conscious as hoarse calls and jeers chorused around him. He could not make out their words; his head swam and it was all he could do to fight the darkness creeping at the edges of his mind. Even as his hope began to fail, however, Aragorn heard another sound above the din growing around him: the falls.

The cries of the orcs around him seemed to fade into insignificance as Aragorn focused upon the sound of Rauros roaring nearby. The ranger had already fulfilled his oath to Frodo; he had slaughtered many orcs and done everything in his power to grant the hobbit safe passage to Mordor. He had also heeded Gandalf's words in Moria and led the Company on when all hope seemed lost; Legolas would take up the mantle of leadership in his stead. It was only his hopes of kingship that would be left unfulfilled. Arwen would leave for the Havens and live in peace for the rest of her days. It was the only way.

Suddenly Aragorn's hands were wrenched behind his back; he felt the coarse touch of rope as the orc holding him down began to bind his hands. If he did not act now, then he would meet his end in the dungeons of Mordor, if such mercy was ever granted to him. A fate worse than death surely awaited him if Aragorn were to give up and surrender himself to these creatures.

It was a mixture of fear and determination which granted the ranger one last surge of strength. With a cry he braced himself against the ground beneath him and attempted to shake off the hands that were holding him. Perhaps the orcs had thought him unconscious already, for their grip loosened for a moment in hesitation; Aragorn firmly kicked back and caught one of the orcs in the midsection. The loosened rope fell away from his hands as he swiftly turned onto his back and kicked another away. Desperately he struck out with his hands and feet until he was able to turn and leap for his sword. Andúril suddenly flashed like flame again as he raised the sword and thrust it through the belly of an orc standing over him. He used this leverage to help stagger again to his feet and then wrenched the sword free.

Staggering backwards, Aragorn fended off the others with weak blows for as long as he could. Then he turned and looked down at the cascading water and jagged rocks far below him, and back to the rabble of orcs behind him, wielding their scimitars and baying for his blood. The ranger clasped a hand to his shirt, around the Evenstar hanging hidden at his neck, and muttered softly to himself:

_Ónen i-Estel Edain. Ú-chebin Estel anim._

Dodging a glancing blow from the nearest orc, Aragorn kicked the creature aside and sent it crashing backwards into the others. Then he returned Andúril to its sheath at his belt, and with his remaining strength quickly turned and ran desperately for the place where the land fell away before the raging waters of Rauros. The cries of the orcs were quickly swallowed up behind him as Aragorn leapt from the cliff's edge and plunged down into the spray of the rumbling falls.


	6. The Departure of Boromir

_Damn, I'm really sorry for the massive wait for this chapter. Thank you for all the reviews and faves. The last few months have been crazy busy with dissertation work and I've barely had a moment to write any fic. I found a free afternoon today, however, and finally got this update finished. It was giving me a lot of trouble and rightly so! Yet another evil cliffhanger to add to the pile, muhahaha… All credit for the dialogue in the final scene goes to Peter Jackson.  
_

_The good news is that Book One of this fic is now complete. Each book will consist of six chapters and will focus on different groups much like the books, so if your favourite character isn't getting much attention they will probably pop up in the next section. And I'll be finished for Easter soon and able to write a bit faster. Yay! _

**XXX**

The first pale tinges of sunrise were glimmering upon the surface of Nen Hithoel when Legolas awoke. At first he did not notice that anything was amiss, but as he carefully stepped among the sleeping figures of the Company he felt that something was wrong; the campfire had burned very low. Aragorn had failed to keep it stoked during the night.

Legolas bent down and threw the last faggot upon the fire. His sense of unease grew as he approached the shore where the ranger had been keeping watch. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him. There resting upon a rock and glinting in the weak sunlight was Aragorn's elven brooch. It sat upon a folded piece of parchment which fluttered lightly in the breeze.

Legolas took up the note and read it in disbelief. He had certainly had his misgivings about the ranger since their conversation by the Silverlode, but he had not expected this. It had never occurred to him that Aragorn might leave the Company. Legolas remembered the black shapes he had seen upon the eastern shore and became very worried. No warrior, not even Aragorn, could have hoped to take them all on by himself and live to tell the tale.

Legolas lowered the note and looked across to the eastern shore; he rested an anxious hand upon the hilt of one of the knives at his belt. He could not see anything amongst the thick tangle of trees which covered the slopes of Amon Lhaw, but he imagined that he could hear distant cries and the clash of weapons. How he wished to go and help his friend! But he knew that he could not leave the Company unguarded a second time. He had to respect Aragorn's wishes.

Legolas felt helpless as he stood upon the bank. When the sun began to peer over the horizon Legolas knew that Aragorn was not going to return, and turned aside to rouse the others with a heavy heart.

**XXX**

Frodo was the first that Legolas gently shook awake. The hobbit groaned as he cast away his blanket. Early sunlight now filled the lawn where they had made their camp, and nearby a little spring ran down the gentle slopes of Amon Hen and trickled away into the trees with a soft murmur. Frodo pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked up at Legolas' troubled face. Nearby Sam stirred and turned over, pulling his own blanket closer.

"What is it?" Frodo asked. "What has happened, Legolas?"

"It is Aragorn," the elf answered sadly. "He is gone. He left in the night."

Suddenly Sam opened his eyes and sat up in alarm.

"He's gone?" he cried. "What do you mean Strider has gone?"

Legolas turned to the hobbit with a frown. Sam's words soon woke the rest of the Company. Legolas stood up and waited for them to calm down a little.

"Aragorn has gone?" asked Gimli. The dwarf had climbed to his feet by now, and one hand was upon his axe in readiness. "Are you sure? He might have left to wander the shore."

"No," said Legolas. "No, he has left us, Gimli. He has taken his pack and weapons. He is gone."

"Do you know where he went?" asked Merry.

Legolas nodded.

"He left a note." The elf still held the parchment and elven brooch in his hands, and slowly he unfurled the note and cast his eyes over it again. "_I have left for the eastern shore_," Legolas read aloud. "_The passage to the Emyn Muil will not be safe unless I draw away Sauron's forces. If I do not return by sunrise then you may assume the worst and go on without me. Nothing must endanger Frodo's quest._"

Legolas quietly lowered the note.

"Aragorn has left?" asked Boromir in disbelief. "Then who is supposed to lead this Fellowship in his absence?"

Legolas folded the note again.

"Aragorn spoke with me back in Lothlórien," said the elf. He did not meet Boromir's gaze. "I did not understand the significance of his words then, but it is clear to me now that he wished for me to lead us on. We pored over many of the maps together at Rivendell and I believe I can find the way to Mordor at need."

"But Aragorn swore to lead this Fellowship," said Pippin. "He cannot just leave us, can he?"

"Aragorn felt guilty for looking in the Lady's mirror," said Legolas. "Obviously he wanted to keep the rest of us safe. He must have believed it was the only way."

"And he thought that sneaking away was the answer?" Boromir said angrily. "He has abandoned this Company and condemned himself to death!"

"That is enough, Boromir," said Gimli. He noticed the hobbits were becoming frightened. His hand tightened upon his axe. "We do not know whether Aragorn still lives. He may yet return to us." The dwarf cast his eyes around at the Company. His hand fell away from his axe. "While Aragorn is gone this Fellowship lacks a leader. We must respect his wishes and carry on without him. For my part the choice is clear." He moved to stand proudly next to Legolas, both hands resting upon his axe. "Who else wishes for Legolas to lead us in Aragorn's absence?"

Legolas smiled and put a hand upon Gimli's shoulder in thanks. All eyes now fell upon Frodo. The hobbit did not say a word, but stirred and went to stand with Legolas and Gimli. Boromir watched in disbelief as the hobbits followed Frodo one-by-one. He looked as though he wished to protest, but quickly realised the futility of it and shook his head.

"Then I guess I am defeated," he said quietly. "So be it! This Company shall be led by Legolas, and I will journey with you as far as I may until my road turns towards Gondor."

At his words the others visibly relaxed. The soft murmur of the spring filled the camp again. Frodo shivered and wrapped his cloak tighter about his shoulders.

"The trees of Amon Lhaw are burning," said Gimli.

They all turned and followed his gaze. Thick smoke was drifting into the sky above the eastern shore; a fierce glow could be seen lighting the trees. All was utterly quiet as the Company watched the fire consume the wood before their eyes. Slowly Boromir lowered himself disbelievingly onto a nearby rock. Frodo stared across at the eastern shore with a look of complete desperation. Sam rubbed the hobbit's shoulder comfortingly. Nobody spoke for a long time.

"What do we do now?" asked Boromir. His voice was very quiet.

"I do not know," Legolas said. "But we should not sit here and despair. There is nothing we can do now."

Boromir nodded solemnly.

"The North Stair is not far. It is the only portage-way past Rauros. The eastern shore is not safe. The River can be crossed at the foot of the falls, but it is a difficult journey." Boromir paused and then spoke haltingly: "We should go to Minas Tirith. It is the safer road. From there we can regroup and strike out for Mordor from a place of strength."

Legolas sighed. He knew that another difficult decision was now upon them. He turned to Frodo and said: "It is for the Ring-bearer to decide. We can only advise him which route to take - it is up to Frodo to choose our path."

Frodo did not answer him at once. He clutched at his cloak and avoided the intent gaze of the others. Finally he said: "My mind has been troubled for many days. I would like some time alone to make a decision about our road."

"Of course," Legolas said gently. "But keep in mind that time is pressing upon us, Frodo. You may take an hour to yourself. Do not wander far."

Frodo nodded and quietly turned away. Sam watched him anxiously as he passed away into the trees at the foot of Amon Hen. He knew that nobody could help Frodo now. He had a very hard decision to make and he must make it alone. Sam thrust his hands in his pockets and sat down upon a log, feeling quite useless.

Legolas advised the others to ready their packs. Then he walked over to the fire and put out the fading embers, scattering the ashes with his boot; Boromir frowned when he saw that they had run out of faggots.

"We shall need more firewood," Boromir said, taking up his pack. "The land around Rauros-foot is marshy. We will not find any dry kindling there." He made to pick up his shield, but then lowered it again and turned to Legolas. "I will go and collect some firewood. I shall also fetch Frodo when he is ready to return."

Boromir quickly disappeared into the wood. Legolas watched him go for a moment. The roaring of Rauros could be heard faintly in the distance. Behind him the others were busy packing their things; Gimli was fetching some water from the spring. Soft footsteps sounded behind him. Legolas turned and found Pippin before him.

"What about Aragorn?" the hobbit asked. "Should we wait for him in case he returns?"

Sam and Merry stopped what they were doing and looked across at Legolas expectantly. The elf smiled softly and put a hand upon Pippin's shoulder.

"Yes," said Legolas. "Yes, we will wait a little longer in case he comes back, Pippin. But we must be gone by noon at the very latest. We cannot linger."

The hobbit seemed comforted by these words and soon turned away to help the others. Legolas, however, stood motionless for a long time, his eyes fixed upon the burning trees of the eastern shore.

**XXX**

Frodo wandered aimlessly through the wood, his heart heavy with guilt. The murmur of the little stream gradually faded into the distance as he approached the tree-clad slopes of Amon Hen. The ruins of a faded road wound a steady path here, leading him up steep stairs which had been cut into the hillside long ago.

Frodo had wished to leave the Company. He had been screwing himself up to the task for many days, ever since they had left Lothlórien. Now that Aragorn was gone, however, he did not know what to do. He had been counting upon the ranger to look after the others when he left. How he could leave now after the sacrifice that Aragorn had made for him? How could he willingly walk alone to his doom?

The distant call of a bird greeted the hobbit as he climbed the slopes and emerged into a small clearing blanketed in dead leaves. A huge rock was lying here beneath the trees, hewn into the shape of a face; the remnant of some ancient colossus now heavily cracked and weathered. Frodo approached it with slow steps, feeling utterly and hopelessly lost. With a sigh he settled down upon the crumbling rock face with his head in his hands; soon he had stretched himself out upon it with his hands folded beneath him. He lay still for a long time looking out upon the forest with unseeing eyes. The hobbit wanted to cry but no tears would come.

Frodo wondered if it was the madness of the Ring driving his friends to such ends. First Gandalf had stayed behind to slay the Balrog and fallen to his doom; now Aragorn had sacrificed himself to keep the Company safe. They had all been driven to desperation to safeguard not only the Quest but his own life. Was he really worth all this death?

Slowly Frodo reached to his throat and pulled out the Ring upon its chain. He could feel it as a growing weight about his neck as he brought it to rest in the palm of his hand. His feelings of guilt began to subside as he gently stroked it with his thumb. Here was Isildur's bane; the cause of all of this death and destruction. How could it be so? It was such a little thing.

The sound of footsteps grew in the distance. Frodo put the Ring away in alarm and sprang to his feet, sensing unfriendly eyes upon him. Suddenly Boromir appeared from the trees ahead, carrying a stack of firewood in his arms. He noticed the hobbit and gave a kind smile.

"None of us should wander alone," he said. "You least of all." He bent down and picked up another piece of wood. "So much depends on you." Frodo gave him a stern look. Boromir straightened again with a frown. "Frodo?"

The hobbit did not answer. Boromir came a little closer and halted a few steps before him.

"I know why you seek solitude," he said. "You suffer; I see it day by day. Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly?" Frodo remained quiet. Boromir's voice became eager. "There are other ways, Frodo. Other paths that we might take."

"I know what you would say," said Frodo. "And it would seem like wisdom but for the warning in my heart."

"Warning?" asked Boromir. "Against what?" He approached the hobbit again, but Frodo carefully stepped around him and started in the other direction. Boromir turned and followed him, forcing Frodo backwards in his steps. "We're all afraid, Frodo. But to let that fear drive us to destroy what hope we have… Don't you see that is madness?"

The hobbit caught the strange gleam in Boromir's eyes.

"There is no other way."

Boromir was now trembling with suppressed excitement. He strode forwards and spoke ever more loudly. "I ask only for the strength to defend my people!" he cried. Suddenly Boromir threw the firewood at his feet. He held out a hand and came forwards again. "If you would but lend me the Ring…"

"No," said Frodo sharply. He took a step backwards in alarm.

"Why do you recoil?" Boromir said. "I am no thief."

"You are not yourself," said Frodo.

Boromir did not take his eyes from the hobbit. His voice became softer and filled with menace.

"What chance do you think you have?" he cried. "They will find you. They will take the Ring! And you will beg for death before the end!"

Frodo turned and began to walk away.

"You fool!" Boromir shouted. He suddenly strode towards Frodo with frightening speed. Frodo broke into a run. "It is not yours save by an unhappy chance!" cried Boromir. "It could have been mine! It should be mine! Give it to me!" His voice was now wild with anger. Suddenly he seized a fistful of Frodo's cloak and pulled the hobbit towards him, driving him roughly to the ground. His hands groped for the Ring; a raging fire was in his eyes. "Give it to me!" he cried.

"No!" Frodo struggled against him desperately, clasping a hand about the Ring upon its chain at his neck. Suddenly the hobbit gave a cry and vanished. Boromir gasped and drew back, startled. He was knocked roughly to the ground as Frodo leapt blindly to his feet and sprang away up the hill in terror.

Boromir rose angrily to his hands and knees.

"I see your mind!" he cried. He turned and cast about frantically, searching for some sign of the hobbit. "You will take the Ring to Sauron! You will betray us!" His voice was filled with venom. "You go to your death and the death of us all!" Boromir rose to his feet, shaking with anger. "Curse you! Curse you! And all the halflings!" Even as he spoke his foot caught upon a hidden root. Roughly he stumbled and fell upon his face.

The wood grew still. Only the soft crunch of leaves remained as Boromir staggered slowly to his feet. The strange gleam in his eyes had faded and only fear remained. Dead leaves were caught in his hair as he looked about frantically; his face was filled with anguish as he took his first faltering steps up the slope.

"Frodo?" he cried. His yell was quickly swallowed up in the empty wood. There was no answer. He felt a surge of panic as he quickened his pace. It was not long before he came upon the hobbit sprawled near the base of a tree.

"Frodo?" he whispered.

Boromir fell heavily to his knees, touching a gloved hand to the side of the hobbit's face. Frodo was deathly still. Tears were already starting in Boromir's eyes as he gently shook the hobbit's shoulder. "Frodo?" he said. "What have I done? Please, Frodo…" He dashed away his tears with the back of his glove, but paused as he suddenly noticed the blood upon his hand. Frodo bore a nasty gash upon the side of his head; a nearby rock was stained with his blood. He had stumbled and struck his head.

Boromir gave an anguished sob as he realised that Frodo was dead. He clenched his fist and raised it to his face, staring down at the hobbit's still form. A slew of emotions ran through his mind in that moment; above all he felt grief and total panic. Then he noticed Frodo's clasped hand.

The hobbit's arm was resting across his chest, the hand just above his heart. With shaking hands Boromir reached down and prized apart the hobbit's pale fingers to reveal the Ring of Power resting in his palm. It had slipped from his finger and betrayed him.

The wood around him was now completely silent. Slowly Boromir took the Ring and held it up to the light. It glinted fiercely for a moment and then grew dull. As he watched it the Ring appeared to grow in size in his hand. Boromir gazed at it transfixed, his tears forgotten. He could hear enticing whispers calling his name.

Suddenly fear crept into the edges of his mind. Where were the others? Had they heard the commotion? Boromir looked about himself anxiously, becoming aware of faint cries in the distance. Of course the others would suspect the worst of him. Why would they not? Frodo was dead and Boromir had blood upon his hands. They would find him and take the Ring.

"No!" thought Boromir. "No, I must not let them. They will take the Ring to Mordor and destroy it! But it has come to me! It is my own. My own!"

The voices in the distance grew louder. Soon it would be too late; Boromir had to act now. Quickly he thrust the Ring onto his finger. Then he turned and fled blindly into the trees of Amon Hen, the wraith world a blur of shadow and flame about him.


	7. The Breaking of the Fellowship

_Well, I can't say that I didn't expect that reaction! xD I'm so sorry to all of the Frodo fans out there, but it was impossible for me to tell the story I wanted without his sacrifice. Hopefully I have treated him with due respect in this chapter. And I even wrote him a song! I did not think that a boat-style funeral was appropriate for a hobbit so I decided upon an alternative; besides, I have always wanted to write such a scene._

_I got my inspiration for this chapter from Frodo's encounter with Shelob and Boromir's funeral, so as always credit goes to Tolkien and Peter Jackson for any recognizable lines and the structure of the song. Thank you everyone for the encouraging reviews. They make writing this a great pleasure even if it is a lot of hard work!_

**XXX**

They found Frodo lying face upward near the summit of Amon Hen.

Sam and Legolas rushed up the slope towards him, desperately calling his name, but their cries were met by nothing but silence. The two had left camp earlier that morning to investigate the sounds of distress they had heard emanating from the wood, vainly calling for Frodo and Boromir as they went. Their search came to an abrupt end when they came upon Frodo's body sprawled in the leaf litter.

Legolas slowed in his steps, a look of disbelief flickering across his face as Sam fell to his knees beside Frodo. The side of the hobbit's face was caked with dried blood. Vainly Sam attempted to wake his friend by gently shaking him by the shoulders.

"Master, dear master," he said, but Frodo did not speak again. He was deadly pale and cold to the touch; it was clear that he had been dead for some time. A distressed Sam laid his head upon Frodo's breast and then to his mouth. No sign of life remained. He chafed the hobbit's hands and touched a trembling hand to his brow, but a warm flush did not return. Frodo was no more.

"Frodo," Sam wept. "Wake up, Mr. Frodo! It's your Sam. Oh, please wake up! Wake up, Mr. Frodo! Don't you know your Sam?"

Legolas stood back quietly as the hobbit wept for his master. Despite his grief the elf still clutched his twin knives in readiness, expecting an attack from the surrounding trees. He was reeling with disbelief at all that had happened that day. Was each member of this Company fated to die? Were all of his choices as their leader doomed to failure? He kept his senses alert to anything else moving in the wood, but all was quiet and still. There were no enemies afoot. Eventually he came forwards and crouched down beside Sam, putting a comforting hand upon the hobbit's shoulder. He could find no words of comfort to give.

"Mr. Frodo," Sam said again. Tears were now streaming down his face. "Please wake up, Mr. Frodo. Please don't go. Don't go where I can't follow."

So it was that the others later found them. Sam was weeping in earnest as Gimli and the hobbits emerged from the trees, halting in amazement at the sight that greeted them. Slowly Gimli lowered his axe as Merry and Pippin went to their friend's side. Legolas drew back and remained nearby with his head bowed in grief. Soon the clearing was filled with the sound of weeping.

"Alas!" said Gimli, after a long silence had passed. "We stayed to guard our camp as you asked but we should have been of more use here. We came when we heard your calls subside - but too late, it seems."

"We were all too late," answered Legolas sadly. "But where Boromir is I do not know. He did not answer our cries." Slowly he returned the knives to his belt. The hobbits were still bent with weeping.

"How did this happen?" asked Merry. Tears were streaming down his face as he looked up at Legolas. Beside him Pippin seemed unable to speak; the hobbit's eyes were red with weeping also.

Legolas could not give him an answer. His eyes drifted to the blood-stained rock which stood starkly amidst the leaf litter and back again to Frodo's still form. It was obvious that the hobbit had fallen and struck his head. But how had this happened? It seemed to Legolas that Frodo had been in a hurry to get away from something. As he studied Frodo's pale face something caught his eye as it glinted in the early morning sunlight; the gold chain which always hung about the hobbit's neck. Legolas felt a chill of fear as realisation struck him.

"The Ring," he said. "The Ring has gone." Even as he spoke the words the truth suddenly hit him like a flash. Legolas remembered the image of a burnished shield left discarded against a tree in their camp. Then he remembered Boromir's determined steps as he had turned away and disappeared into the trees only half an hour before. It was the only explanation. Anger swelled up inside him. "He has taken it," said Legolas. His voice was grim. "Boromir has taken the Ring."

Sam continued to weep as he held Frodo's hand and softly kissed the back of it. Gimli's eyes flashed with anger at Legolas' words. He stepped forward and said: "Boromir? You mean to say that Boromir is responsible for this?"

Legolas shook his head.

"I do not know, Gimli. Clearly he has taken the Ring, but I could not tell you what happened here. Perhaps it was an accident…"

"Or perhaps he has betrayed us." Gimli's eyes were cold as he spoke. Legolas could see tears starting there, despite the dwarf's grim expression. "Is it not obvious? He took the Ring from Frodo, Legolas. After swearing an oath to protect him he has killed him!"

Sam's weeping cut short at this remark. Slowly he lifted his tear-stained face and looked up at Legolas and Gimli, his expression suddenly serious. The look in his eyes was chilling.

"Boromir?" he said quietly. "Did Boromir do this?"

"I do not know." Legolas wished that he could offer more comforting words. "Perhaps he simply took the Ring and fled. Frodo might have run after him and then stumbled and fell. Or perhaps there was a struggle…"

"And then Boromir killed him," said Gimli. He tightened his grip upon his axe, glancing about and staring into the trees as if Boromir were still nearby. "It does not look as though the Ring was snatched from around Frodo's neck. The chain would be broken if that was the case."

Legolas nodded, following his line of thinking.

"That is true. It was not taken during a struggle. Boromir must have removed it himself, after…" His words trailed off into silence; he did not need to complete the sentence. Legolas felt his heart sink in realisation. "So it is true," he said sadly. "Boromir is indeed responsible for this."

Pippin bowed his head at these words; Merry reached out and put an arm around the hobbit's shoulders. Furiously Sam dashed the tears away from his face.

"So what do we do now?" asked Merry.

Suddenly all eyes were upon Legolas. The elf looked around at the sad faces of his companions at a loss for words. How could he give them an answer when he did not even know the truth himself? His heart stirred with pity as he returned Sam's teary gaze. He knew now that an evil choice now lay before him.

"Alas!" thought Legolas. "All that I do seems to go ill today. How I wish that Aragorn were here! For what shall be the fate of our sundered Company now?"

Gimli seemed to sense his friend's distress. With slow steps he took Legolas to one side and sought to give the hobbits some peace. Their weeping continued as he and Legolas walked some ways and stopped near the break of the trees, just out of earshot. The elf turned to Gimli with a sigh.

"We must tend to Frodo," Legolas said wearily. "We cannot leave him lying here; that much is clear. I shall let the hobbits have some time to grieve but then we must start making preparations."

"But we do not have the tools to give him a proper burial," said Gimli. "And if what you say of Boromir is true, and he has indeed fled with the Ring, then we do not have time to linger. What is to be done?"

Legolas turned and looked long upon the hobbits nearby. A light breeze stirred the trees above them, as if the leaves themselves were whispering to them in strange tongues. Eventually he gave another sigh and said: "There are not enough stones here to build a cairn. Neither do we have the time to raise a mound over him."

"That does not leave many options," said Gimli.

"It does not," said Legolas. "But there is plenty of wood in this forest to burn, and flint and tinder we have also. We must build a pyre for Frodo."

The dwarf bowed his head.

"Just as I feared," he muttered. "So be it."

Legolas clasped a firm hand upon his companion's shoulder. He hoped that the gesture was comforting as he turned away to return to the hobbits. Inside he felt a sense of hopelessness and despair that he had never felt before. The Company was sundered: Frodo was dead, their leader was still missing, and now only five remained where there had once been nine. The Ring was now beyond their reach and being taken to Minas Tirith to wage a hopeless war against the Enemy. There was no chance that they would be able to intercept it in time and return to their road.

The Quest had failed.

**XXX**

Solemnly the Company made their preparations. Whilst Legolas tended to the body Gimli took up his axe and cut several branches; these he firmly lashed together with bowstrings. Then they spread Frodo's elven cloak upon the frame in order to make a rough bier. Upon this they carried his body to the shore, where the hobbits had been occupied building a makeshift funeral pyre of stones near the edge of the lapping waters. The trees of Amon Lhaw were still smoking idly upon the far shore of the lake. Their work took much of the day to complete, and the sun was low in the sky when everything was finally made ready.

Now they laid Frodo in the middle of this pyre, with his elven hood and cloak folded and set beneath his head as a pillow. His blanket they set aside as a shroud. Legolas had gently washed the blood from his face and combed his dark hair. His _mithril_ shirt Sam had taken for his own at Legolas' behest, along with Frodo's sword and the light of Eärendil.

Frodo's pale face was now peaceful in repose, with his hands folded carefully across his breast. One by one the Company came forward and paid their last respects to their fallen companion; last of all came Sam. He wept as he stooped to kiss Frodo upon the brow, whispering words that the others could not hear to his departed master.

When all was done Legolas and Sam took up the shroud and carefully covered Frodo's body with it. Just before the break of the trees the other hobbits stood openly weeping; Gimli had removed his helmet and stood with his head bowed. In the grass was thrust a torch which they had fashioned from the remaining firewood and lashed together with bowstrings. Legolas struck a flame with his flint and tinder and set it alight, but he stood back and waited with the torch in hand as Sam stepped forward before the Company.

Haltingly he began to sing:

_When evening in the Shire was grey_

_before the dawn he went away_

_and sang an ancient walking song _

_across the fields on journey long._

_From Westfarthing to Lórien,_

_from northern field to southern den,_

_through roaring flood and snow-clad hills_

_and elven woods he walked at will._

_With Dwarves and Hobbits, Elves and Men,_

_through waste and wild, marsh and glen._

_On winding paths he journeyed far_

_through fog and fire and darkling door._

_A shining sword, a helping hand,_

_a fierce cry, a burning brand;_

_a back that shouldered twice his load,_

_a weary traveller on the road._

_Until his hour came at last_

_and from the shadow of the past_

_sprung evil that he long defied;_

_on Amon Hen he cruelly died._

If more remained to Sam's lament then the words were left unspoken. The hobbit began to weep again as Legolas set his torch to the wood and held it there until it caught alight. Then he stepped back as the flames began to slowly creep along the bier and consume Frodo's body beneath its thick shroud. The torch he thrust upright into the grass as he turned away and stood back at a distance with the others.

The sound of crackling flames filled the air, broken here and there by the quiet sobbing of the three hobbits; Gimli stood with his helmet in his hands, staring blankly into the fire. Beside him tears were quietly streaming down Sam's face. Legolas could not take his eyes away from the bier as the flames leapt high into the air. It took just moments for the funeral pyre to be totally consumed.

Those with the strength watched the flames as they did their work. Nobody spoke for what seemed like hours. Soon Sam could bear it no longer and turned away with an anguished sob; Merry pulled him into a hug as the hobbit wept. Next to them Pippin stood alone watching the flames. He seemed very far away.

"What do we do now?" said Merry. His voice was hoarse from crying. He turned his reddened eyes towards Legolas in expectation. Sam drew back a little and wiped at his tears.

"We must go to Minas Tirith," Legolas said quietly. "If Boromir really has taken the Ring then that is where he will go. We must follow him and do whatever we can to prevent its misuse. Frodo would not want us to give up."

Even amidst his tears Merry nodded in agreement. Soon Gimli turned aside and said: "Boromir shall be leagues from here by now. Even if we do close the distance what are we supposed to do with him?"

Legolas glanced anxiously at Sam. He had turned away and was now standing with Pippin, who was still standing transfixed by the flames and weeping quietly. He lowered his voice as he spoke.

"Boromir shall be brought to account for his actions, I promise. But we cannot deal out justice purely through grief or desire for vengeance. First we must regain the Ring. Then we can plan our next course of action. Perhaps the might of Gondor will prove its worth after all."

"You do not think we should continue to Mordor?" said Gimli with a frown.

Legolas shook his head.

"I fear that is no longer our path. Our road turned to Minas Tirith the moment Boromir seized the Ring."

"Then it has all been in vain," said Gimli. "The Fellowship has failed."

Silence fell. For a moment the Company stood around dejectedly, quietly sobbing. Legolas looked around at them with new-found determination.

"Not if we hold true to each other," he said. "We will not abandon this Quest just yet. Not while we have strength left." The others looked up at his words. Gimli stepped forward with a hand upon his axe. "Tomorrow we shall depart for Gondor. Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light. Tonight, however, let us eat and drink and remember Frodo's deeds in life, for none of them were in vain."

These words seemed to give the others new strength, and one by one the remaining members of the Company turned away and returned to their empty camp upon the lawn. Sam was led away by Merry, still softly crying. Soon only Legolas and Gimli remained as the flames of the funeral pyre began to die out.

"We made the right decision,' said Gimli, once the hobbits had returned to camp. "Boromir's actions have proven us all right. Whatever happens next I shall be by your side, my friend. You have my word."

Legolas clasped a hand upon Gimli's shoulder again.

"Thank you." He managed a small smile despite his grief. "Thank you, Gimli. I dearly hope that you are right."

Soon the pyre had all but died. Only the faint crackle of flames now remained as the two watched a column of black smoke drift languidly into the sky. Stars were beginning to peer out from behind the clouds above the trees. Darkness was slowly descending upon the land.

"Do you think that Aragorn is dead?" asked Gimli quietly.

Legolas did not answer at first. Slowly he reached into the pocket of his shirt and removed the elven brooch that Aragorn had left as a token of his departure that morning. It glittered faintly in the starlight as he turned it over in his hands.

"No," said Legolas, after a pause. "No, I do not believe that he is, Gimli. If he was dead then my heart would tell me it was so." His hand closed firmly about the elven brooch as he stared resolutely at the pyre ahead.

"Then why has he still not returned to us?" said Gimli.

Legolas frowned.

"I do not know," he said. "Perhaps Aragorn _is_ dead. Part of me hopes that it is so when I consider the alternative…" Legolas watched as a faint breeze stirred the dying embers of the funeral pyre; the red glow shone coldly upon their empty faces. "I fear for him, Gimli." His voice was nothing more than a whisper. "I fear that of which I hardly dare speak."

"What do you fear, my friend?"

Legolas did not answer for a long time. In the silence that followed the last of the glowing embers slowly died before his eyes. Nothing now remained of the pyre but ashes.

"I fear that the Enemy has found the heir of Isildur, Gimli." Legolas did not look away from the funeral pyre as he spoke. "Not for naught does Mordor fear him, for is he not of the children of Lúthien? For someone to bend such a man to his own will… I cannot begin to imagine the terrible things that he would be forced to endure." His voice broke at this, and Legolas looked down again at the elven brooch in his hand. "If that is so than perhaps death would be a more merciful end."

At these words Legolas and Gimli lapsed into silence. They watched as the ashes of the pyre were slowly picked up and scattered upon the breeze. It was a long time before they returned to camp to rejoin the others.


	8. The Riders of Rohan

_Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! :D I really do appreciate the feedback and I'm glad that I managed to give Frodo a decent sendoff. Now the story is shifting into high gear and I'm gonna try my hardest to keep up a steady pace when it comes to updating this thing. The summer is almost here! _

_Credit, as always, goes to Tolkien and Peter Jackson for any recognisable lines. I've tried to stick closely to the book in my descriptions and worked hard to keep the timeline consistent, so fingers crossed everything is correct! _

**XXX**

At the base of a tree beside the little stream they marked Frodo's grave with the elven brooch from Lothlórien. Upon a smooth piece of rock were carved the simple words:

_Frodo, son of Drogo._

The remaining boats they covered with branches and hid deep in the woods beneath a knot of trees. They did not wish to destroy them needlessly if there was a small chance another traveller might benefit from their use. At first light the hobbits slowly packed their things as Gimli put out the campfire from breakfast. Legolas stood alone upon the bank, close to that place where the rill created by the spring trickled down into the water. He was quietly surveying the slopes of Amon Lhaw. When he heard Gimli's footsteps he turned and gave a sigh.

"I fear Aragorn has passed beyond my sight from hill or plain, under moon or sun," said Legolas. "I had hoped that he might yet return, but now I know he will not be coming back. We can wait no longer."

Gimli stepped up beside him. His eyes too were drawn towards the eastern shore. A swathe of black and charred trees now marred the once green slopes of Amon Lhaw; birds were wheeling in the air above. The ranger's battle with the orcs must have been terrible.

Soon the others gathered behind them with their packs and weapons ready. Legolas gazed around at his companions with sad eyes.

"I do not know what our road shall bring," he said. "No doubt it shall be hard and bitter, but we will not abandon our quest whilst hope still remains. We shall press on now by day and by night. Every hour is precious." He glanced towards the eastern shore again before stepping away from the lake's edge. "Come! Let us go now. We shall rest only at great need."

**XXX**

The sun was high as the Company set out and returned to that spot where they had come upon Frodo the previous day. There they picked up Boromir's trail and left behind the woods about the lake. Soon they climbed long slopes and came down into that stony country around Rauros Falls where mist lay thickly upon the trees. The ridges of the Emyn Muil stretched out before them, steep and difficult against the grey sky. After climbing up the western ridge of this landscape they rested for a brief spell in the cool shadow of the winding valley below. Then they set off again, following the dale trickling northwards through the valley for a mile or more. In a little fold in the grey slopes they eventually came upon a stream; bushes grew here and there and also patches of grass.

Legolas ran ahead at the sight of the stream winding down into the valley. Bending down he searched the ground eagerly for a sign of their quarry. Suddenly he gave a cry.

"At last!" he said. "Here are the tracks that we seek!" Once the others had reached him he gestured to a spot on the bank of the stream. They could see the mark of heavy footprints in a patch of grass. "My tracking skills do not match those of a ranger, but I have hunted deer many times in my homeland. Boromir has passed through here. Alas, these tracks are not fresh. But now I know that we are indeed on the right path."

Swiftly now the Company set off again, following the watercourse up the crest of the hill and emerging at its summit to the cold breeze blowing lightly upon their tired faces. Before them the ridge plunged down suddenly more than twenty fathoms to a sheer cliff which comprised the East Wall of Rohan; for many leagues beyond stretched the wide meads of Rohan and the distant water-vales until they fell away before the blue and purple peaks of the White Mountains. Turning back they saw the far hills across the River silhouetted against the sky.

Legolas paused atop the edge of the ridge, gazing off into the distance. He stood still for some time without saying a word.

"What do your elf eyes see?" asked Gimli.

"Boromir," said Legolas. "He is perhaps three or four leagues away. I can see him climbing a rise in the distance."

This was the news that they had all been waiting for, but none of the Company knew how to respond. Were they to be joyful at these tidings? They had not decided what they might do if they caught up with Boromir. At this point they were not sure if there was anything they could do. The grip that the Ring had upon him was likely to be very strong. It certainly seemed to have staved off hunger and exhaustion and kept him going with little food or rest.

Gimli shook his head.

"This is hopeless," he said despairingly. "He has a whole day's head start on us."

"Not to mention longer legs than any of us!" cried Merry. His face was very red from that morning's trek. Beside him Sam was bent double and struggling to catch his breath; Pippin was sitting upon a nearby rock.

"I listened to all that was said at the Council," said Legolas. "Boromir spoke of his journey to Imladris. He lost his horse near Tharbad while crossing the Greyflood. What is to stop him from getting a new horse from the Rohirrim? I am sure they would lend him a new steed."

Gimli sighed.

"I fear you are right, Legolas. When he reaches Edoras he shall take a horse and gallop away faster than we can follow him, even if we ran all day and night. We shall never reach him."

Legolas thought about this for a moment.

"We need not reach him before Edoras," he said. "We might yet secure some horses for ourselves. With them we might come upon Boromir as he rests. He will have to stop to feed and water his own horse."

"But how are we to get horses?" asked Merry. He exchanged looks with Pippin and with Sam. "We spent the last of our money at Bree."

"I have some coins," said Legolas. "I do not usually carry them but the journey from my home in Mirkwood was long and hard. I had to pay for food and lodging several nights."

Merry looked very impressed at this. Secretly he wondered how much the elf was really carrying. It was certainly more than a few coins.

"Do we have enough food to keep us until Minas Tirith?" asked Pippin. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glaring sun as he spoke. Sam took a little water but otherwise remained silent. He had said barely two words since they had set off that morning.

Legolas smiled.

"Do not worry, Pippin," he said. "Our _lembas _shall keep for many days yet, but we shall have to ration it carefully. Try not to think so often of your stomach! If we tighten our belts a little than all shall be well." He glanced at Sam, who was returning the cork to his water skin. "Come, let us take some rest and eat a little. Then we shall find a way out of this valley and down into the lands of Rohan."

Descending the ridge they returned to the little stream in the fold of the valley's slopes. There they refilled their flasks and took a little food as they sat sheltered from the worst of the afternoon sun. As he ate Legolas watched Sam with growing concern, noting his halting movements and distant manner; he found himself wondering what it was that Sam had whispered to Frodo before they had set his funeral pyre aflame.

**XXX**

It took them longer than Legolas had expected to wend their way out of the ravine and down onto the green plains of the Rohirrim. Here a falling stream vanished into the sudden swell of grass which rose up at the very foot of the Emyn Muil; the scent of spring stirred the warm air as water trickled down gentle slopes towards the distant Entwash Vale. After scrambling through such barren country the sight of endless green brought the Company to a standstill.

Eventually Pippin asked: "How far is Gondor from here?" The awe in his voice was obvious.

"I am not sure," said Legolas. "But it is perhaps thirty leagues or more between here and the nearest spur of the White Mountains." He gestured with his water skin towards the distant peaks upon the horizon. "That range forms the northern boundary of Gondor; Minas Tirith lies somewhere amidst those mountains."

"Thirty leagues?" Merry looked aghast. "My legs feel as though they will give way at any minute! How are we to carry on for another thirty leagues at this pace?"

"As best we can," said Gimli. As he spoke he removed his helmet and drew a sleeve across his brow; his face was flushed from the heat of the day. "But Boromir shall be struggling all the same. We have only to catch him up and we may rest a while! At Edoras we may secure horses also. Your legs only need stay beneath you a little longer."

Legolas looked around at the Company. Their faces were drawn and tired.

"Alas!" he said. "It is my mistake to bear. We should have departed Amon Hen sooner and ran in the evening rather than under this scorching sun." He took a drink from his water skin and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Gimli shook his head.

"It was not a mistake, my friend. We could not have journeyed far in our grief. It is true that the sun is high this day, but perhaps tomorrow shall bring better counsel."

"Or perhaps rain," said Sam. The others turned to him in surprise at these words. The hobbit stood firm with his thumbs hooked through the straps of his pack. "My old gaffer could always tell when it was going to rain. It would make his hair would stand on end. He could feel it in the air."

Legolas gazed upon Sam with a hint of a smile. The hobbit seemed to have brightened a little as he hiked his pack higher over his shoulders.

"Then come," Legolas said. He returned the water skin to his belt. "Let us keep on going until nightfall and then find somewhere to make camp. We can hope for some rain tomorrow. Now we have a chance to lessen the lead!"

**XXX**

The next day, true to Sam's words, the air became heavy and dark clouds descended as the morning slowly wore on. As evening approached the clouds finally broke and rain began to fall heavily across the plains of Rohan. At first the Company was thankful for the reprieve and replenished their water skins as they went, but it soon became apparent that the rain had been building for some time. It lasted long into the night. They awoke the next morning to find the clouds had cleared and did not curse the sun again.

In such fashion the Company journeyed hard for many days through the lands of Rohan. Weary with sorrow and toil, they rested only at great need and kept as swift a pace as was possible in such terrain. As they journeyed ever onwards their sense of unease began to grow. For many days they had neither sight nor sound of man or beast. A quiet had settled upon the land which did not seem to them to be the quiet of peace. Every now and again Legolas would seek higher ground and regain their bearings; the landscape was so unchanging that it often felt as though they were walking around in circles.

Early one morning they came to long treeless slopes; beyond swelled a line of undulating downs. As they passed over the wide solitude of that land Legolas suddenly stopped and held up a hand. The others halted in their steps and waited as he stood still, thoughtful and silent, his head turned to some distant sound. They could hear the air moving in the grass at their feet.

"What is it?" asked Pippin.

"I can hear the hoofbeats of horses," said Legolas as he stirred.

Without another word Legolas turned and sped on with light footsteps. The others followed him at a distance as the elf climbed the long slopes of one of the humpbacked downs ahead. There Legolas stood, silhouetted against the grey light of the morning sky, his long slender hand shading his eyes against the sun. The others hung back and waited until he turned and descended the rise to rejoin them again.

"Many riders are coming towards us," said Legolas. "I count one hundred and four. Yellow is their hair and bright are their spears. Their leader is very tall. They are perhaps a league away."

The five companions looked troubled at this news.

"We cannot escape them in this bare land," said Gimli. "Shall we wait for them or should we try to slip away unnoticed?"

Legolas thought for a long moment.

"Aragorn insisted that the men of Rohan are not evil," he said slowly. "We have no reason not to trust his words. Alas, I have not much knowledge of the Rohirrim beyond rumour. I believe that they are proud but not cruel. We should wait and ask them for news."

They quickly left the southern slopes of the hill and walked until they came to a spot where they could sit and safely watch the riders approach. There they sat in the faded grass beneath a rocky ridge with their elven cloaks wrapped about them, huddled close. At length even the hobbits could hear the distant rumbling of galloping hoofs.

The cries of strong voices came ringing across the fields. Suddenly the host of riders swept up with a noise like thunder, charging up the gentle slope of the land and passing by the Company as they sat hidden amongst the rocks. They galloped in pairs upon proud horses with grey coats, their long tails flowing in the wind. The riders themselves were tall and heavily built, with long flaxen hair and stern faces; in their hands were spears and they were arrayed with painted shields and swords. Burnished chain mail hung down to their knees.

The entire host had almost passed when Legolas stood up and called in a loud voice: "What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?"

**XXX**

The head rider raised his spear and gave a cry. With astonishing speed and skill the riders checked their steeds and wheeled about in perfect formation, charging back up the slope towards them in an ever-moving circle. Legolas stood unmoving, watching the approach of the riders with immense calm. The others sprang up beside him, wondering what way things would turn.

The riders came to a halt once they had surrounded the Company. A thicket of spears were pointed towards them. From amidst the group of horseman rode their leader. He was a tall man, taller than the rest, and he wore a helm with a flowing plume made from a white horsetail.

"Who are you?" said the rider, using the Common Speech of the West. "And what business do you have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!"

Gimli stood firm with his axe in his hands.

"Give me your name, horse-master, and I shall give you mine."

The rider's eyes flashed with anger. Quickly he handed his spear to one of the horseman flanking him on both sides and climbed down from the saddle. Legolas moved to put a restraining hand upon Gimli's shoulder as he approached.

"I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground," said the rider.

The thicket of spears about them bristled as the riders moved in closer. They waited only for an order from their leader to strike. Things might have gone ill if not for Sam, who sprang up unbidden between the two and gave a placating cry.

"We don't mean any harm," he said, as Gimli lowered his axe with his eyes still fixed upon the rider. "We've just had a long journey, if you understand me."

The rider stepped back and looked upon Sam in awe.

"At first I thought that you were children," he said, looking again at the others, "yet you speak as men. Are you elvish folk?"

"They are halflings," said Gimli. His voice had softened a little. "In the north they are known as hobbits."

The rider continued to study them keenly with wonder. The hobbits remained silent under his gaze. Legolas took the opportunity to step forwards.

"I am Legolas of Mirkwood," he said. "This is Gimli, son of Glóin. With us also are Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took and Samwise Gamgee, hobbits of the Shire. We are friends of Rohan and of Théoden, your king. We come in peace to your lands."

The rider shook his head sadly.

"King Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe," said the rider. "Not even his own kin." As he spoke he removed the helm from atop his head. The spears around them were suddenly withdrawn. "I am Éomer, son of Éomund, Third Marshall of the Mark." He cast down his proud eyes. "Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands. My company are those loyal to Rohan and for that we are banished." He looked about at the riders and then at each of the Company, his voice grim. "The White Wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man, hooded and cloaked." His gaze fell last of all upon Legolas. "And everywhere his spies slip past our nets."

"We are not spies," said Legolas, "only travellers on a desperate chase. We track a man westward across the plain. He has stolen something from us that we must recover at all cost."

Éomer looked at him in surprise.

"To recover something stolen, you say? It must indeed be very precious if you are willing to travel so far without horse or tack. These plains are vast."

"We have not the luxury of horses," said Gimli. "Neither does our quarry. The man we track stole away under false pretences and murdered and robbed one of our Company. We have been chasing him ever since. He is heading to Minas Tirith."

Éomer's expression turned to dismay at this.

"I am sorry to hear of your loss," he said. "I have lost several men myself not four days past. We slaughtered a host of Uruk-hai during the night."

"Did you see a man with them?" asked Gimli in earnest. "Several days ago our leader left us to do battle with a host of orcs. These may be the same creatures. We know not whether he still lives. He may have been taken captive."

Éomer shook his head. He turned and gestured to something very distant. All but Legolas saw nothing but a dark blur upon the distant plain.

"We left none alive," he said. "We piled the carcasses and burned them, but there were no men among the host. I do not think they had a prisoner with them, but it was dark when we gave our ambush. We may have missed the signs. Perhaps your friend escaped into the forest. I would not rejoice if that were the case - I have heard many evil tales of that place."

"The forest?" said Merry. The others turned to him at this and made him blush.

"The Entwood," said Éomer. "It borders our lands for many leagues. We overtook the orcs and did battle almost beneath its eaves. Seldom have I encountered a host so fierce. I dearly hope your companion was not among them."

Éomer was silent for a moment, then he turned and gave a shrill whistle. "Aldor! Hasufel! Arod!" Slowly the men beside him parted as three riderless horses trotted up in answer to his call. Éomer reached out and took their reins. He held them out to Legolas. "May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters, Master Elf. Farewell."

Legolas gave a nod and took the reins from Éomer. One of the horses tossed its mane a little and brushed its nose against the elf's shoulder. The hobbits looked upon them with a hint of alarm.

"Thank you," said Legolas. "I hope that you may yet find some peace upon your road."

Éomer donned his helm again and quickly leapt back onto his horse. The Company stood aside as the riders made ready to leave.

"Go to Edoras and ask for news of your companion," Éomer said. "If he is passing through this land then he shall need a horse to reach Gondor before his flask of water runs dry. You may receive a warmer welcome than some, but do not trust to hope. It has forsaken these lands." He glanced around at his men. "We ride north!"

And Éomer spurred his horse and sped away. With a great thundering of hooves the host of riders set off after him and galloped away down the slope. The Company watched them go until they were nothing but a distant mark upon the horizon.


	9. A Stranger in the Night

_As always thank you to everyone who read, reviewed or simply added this story to their faves/alerts :D I'm having so much fun writing this and I made sure to get the next chapter out as soon as I could. _

_The last few chapters have stuck quite closely to bookverse, and again for this update I've studied the book closely in order to replicate the first impression of Edoras. Some dialogue/description comes from the book and other lines are from the movies, but throughout I have worked hard to put my own personal spin on everything. Soon, however, events will start veering sharply away from canon, so make sure to enjoy the mundane familiar whilst you can! Muhahaha…_

**XXX**

After much deliberation the Company arranged themselves onto the three horses, with Legolas and Pippin on Arod and Gimli and Merry upon Hasufel. Sam rode by himself upon Aldor, an old horse with a brown coat who was the least spirited of the three. Sam had ridden ponies before but never a powerful beast such as this, and Legolas laid his hands over the horse's eyes and whispered some comforting words in order to soothe him. When the horse was calm he helped Sam to climb up into the saddle and adjusted the stirrup straps so that his feet would be able to reach them. When all was ready the five companions spurred their horses and set off in the direction of Edoras.

They rode on through the day, resting only briefly in order to take some food. Very swift were the steeds of Rohan. Legolas led the Company upon Arod, riding at a good pace but not beyond the measure of the others. After the slow and tedious toil of the past few days the hobbits were elated at the speed with which they now travelled, although it took them a while to become truly comfortable upon the horses. The distant shoulders of the mountains could be seen rising from the high grass sweeping before them like a sea of green; smoke rose here to darken the sky above.

"I see a great smoke," Legolas said. "I wonder what that portends?"

"If I am not mistaken that way lies Isengard," said Gimli. "No doubt war is brewing. Let us ride on!"

**XXX**

Legolas recalled as best he could the route that Gandalf had planned for them back in Rivendell. It had originally passed through the Gap of Rohan before veering gently towards the courts at Edoras, but by following the beaten track through the grasslands left by Éomer and his men Legolas was able to strike as true a course as was possible with very little knowledge to hand.

A day of hard riding took them further and further from the black walls of the distant Emyn Muil. As night gathered about them the Company halted and dismounted, building a small fire against the night's chill and resting until the light of day began to creep once more from behind the clouds. Wearily they set off again under the cold dawn, wrapping their cloaks about them to ward off the bitter chill which still hung in the air.

An hour or so passed as the Company rode on, the wind rushing through the lush grasses which bent in their path. Suddenly Legolas held out a hand and signaled to the others to slow their horses. Arod stood still and tossed his mane as the others drew around him in a line.

Legolas pointed ahead and cried: "Look!"

Set before the snow-tipped peaks of the South there stood a lonely height, rising it seemed from the very gloom of the early morning mists which had settled among the rolling hills. Upon this height there stood a peak, its golden roof sparkling in the sun; a stream issued from the dale and flowed about the foot of this height like a thread of silver. Thus the Company first beheld the city of Edoras and the great Hall of Meduseld.

"I see a mighty wall and a thorny fence encircling the rise," said Legolas, gazing ahead to that which the others could not see. "Within there are the roofs of many houses; upon a green terrace at the summit stand men guarding the gates of the hall. Their bright mail glints in the sunlight."

"Let us hope that we shall find welcome here," said Gimli. "It does not bode well in our favour, if what Éomer tells us of the King is true."

No one present spoke, for the same thoughts plagued their minds also. The chill of the morning was soon forgotten as they set off again at speed with Legolas leading them upon Arod. The question still remained as to what kind of reception they would receive when they arrived.

**XXX**

The sound of bird song grew as the travellers approached the stream. In this green land there stood many willow trees blushing red with the first hints of spring, and over the stream stretched a low ford heavily trampled with the comings and goings of horses.

With Legolas still at their head the Company crossed the ford and rode along a wide rutted track towards the uplands. Here they passed a number of high green mounds in the shadow of the walled hill dusted as if with snow; upon their western sides sprang countless white flowers.

"_Simbelmynë_," said Legolas with a smile. "Aragorn told me of this flower. It blossoms in all seasons and grows upon the graves of the dead."

"There are seven mounds upon the left," said Gimli. "And nine upon the right. It is many long years since the golden hall was built."

Here among the burial mounds of the Rohirrim Legolas thought again of Frodo and the simple memorial which had sufficed to mark his own resting place. A quick glance showed that Sam rode solemnly between the green mounds, his tired eyes turned down as his mind wandered in distant fields. Legolas felt his heart stir in pity at the sight, and with a few encouraging words he bid them leave the silent mounds behind and enter the city proper.

At the gates of Edoras they encountered a contingent of men who sprang to their feet at their coming. These guards spoke in the tongue of the Riddermark of which they had no knowledge, but Legolas dismounted from his horse and approached to converse with them in the Common Tongue. After some time one of the guards left swiftly to gain permission for their entry.

"What did you say to them?" asked Merry as Legolas returned to them.

"I gave them our names and told them that we wished to speak with the king," the elf said. He looked slightly weary from the discussion. "I said that we also wished to show our appreciation for the gift of horses which Éomer gave to us, and to return them if they so wished. They said that it was the will of Théoden King that none should enter save those who knew their tongue or could be proved as friends. I told them that our companion from Gondor had surely passed this way."

"And has he?" asked Sam eagerly. "Has Boromir been here?"

Legolas took Arod's reigns in his hand. He gave a sigh.

"He did not say for sure, but he said that men from Mundburg were always welcome here even in days of war."

"Mundburg?" said Pippin.

"I believe it is the name that they give to Minas Tirith," Legolas answered. "I cannot be sure, but if Boromir has not hindered our passage then perhaps my mention of him will grant us entry after all."

It was not long before the guard returned. Legolas was proved to be right, but the man bid them to follow him closely and surrender their weapons at the threshold to the doorwardens. The heavy gates were swung inwards as the travellers were granted admittance. Along a broad path paved with hewn stones they made their winding way up the hill in silence, guiding their horses up occasional flights of steps. As they went they passed many low buildings built of wood and thatch. Here and there they caught a glimpse of sullen villagers, going about their daily tasks with their heads bowed and their flaxen hair strewn about in the wind. Some of them gave the Company strange looks; most simply disappeared into their dark doors and did not reemerge.

The stream tumbled past them down a narrow channel, fed from a spring gushing from a stone fashioned into a horse's head upon the high paved terrace above. As they came at last to the crown of the hill the Golden Hall towered above them, its threshold decorated with gold and embellished with horse head motifs upon each pillar; an immense sunburst was carved in the wood above the entrance, glinting golden in the morning sun.

The Company dismounted their horses here. They were led away to the nearby stables as their guide turned to them again.

"I must leave you now," he said. "The Lord of the Mark awaits you in the hall above, but my duty lies at the gate. Farewell!"

They watched as the guard departed, and then Legolas turned and led the way up a final set of stone-hewn steps to the doors of the Golden Hall. Another group of guards waited here, heavily armed. They were very tall.

"Hail!" said the foremost of these men. At his words the guards all turned the hilts of their swords towards them in a gesture of peace. "My name is Háma. I am the Doorward of Théoden. If you lay aside your weapons here then you may enter and take counsel with the king."

This order the Company obeyed, although Gimli hesitated a moment before laying his axe upon the floor. When all was done Háma smiled broadly and gestured to his fellow guards.

"You are worthy folk indeed," he said. "I believe that you come with no evil purpose. You may enter."

**XXX**

The doors of the hall were swung inwards upon their heavy hinges with a loud creaking. It was very dark inside, lit only by glimmering shafts of sunlight falling here and there from windows set high beneath the wooden eaves; richly carved pillars upheld the vast roof, gleaming dully with gold. As Legolas led the others inside they found the floor to be made up of paved stones of many hues, decorated with strange runes and devices which intertwined beneath their feet. The walls beneath the eastern windows hung with many tapestries depicting fierce battles and warriors of old.

A long hearth stood in the midst of the hall, burning cleanly with wood-fire. Here they halted, facing the great dais at the far end of the house where stood a great gilded chair, flanked by rich standards emblazoned with rearing horses. In the chair sat an old man greatly bent with age, his long white hair and beard like snow upon his shoulders. He wore heavy robes over a rich tunic with fur-trimmed sleeves, and upon his brow sat a thin golden circlet. At his right side sat a pale man with heavy-lidded eyes, who drew close and whispered something to his lord as Legolas slowly approached the dais. A number of guards hovered in the shadows nearby.

"Hail, Théoden son of Thengel!" said Legolas. "We come to take counsel with you, and to seek news of our companion. We believe that he passed lately through this country. He was a man of Gondor, and known to us as Boromir, although he is a great captain in his own homeland."

The old king did not move in his chair, but the man next to him rose to his feet and gazed upon the strangers with dark eyes.

"I remember this man well," said the pale man. He had long dark hair which fell dishevelled across his shoulders. "He arrived here two days ago, when it was late and darkness had long fallen. The men of Gondor are always welcome in the Mark. We gladly lent him a horse and I bade him lodge here for the night in the royal chambers, but he refused. Before the sun had arisen he left again without a word." He spoke in a grim voice, and it seemed to Legolas as though bitterness laced his words at Boromir's swift departure. "I can hardly imagine why he was in such a great hurry, but who are you that follow at his tail? Five ragged wanderers in grey."

Legolas sensed Gimli behind him wishing to stride forward a pace. He put out a gentle hand of reproach and turned his eyes up to gaze upon first the pale man and then the king.

"We are friends and allies of Rohan," said Legolas. "Grey is our raiment, for the Elves clad us as we passed through the shadow of great perils to your hall. Even as we stand the storm is fast approaching, and now all friends should gather together, lest each singly be destroyed."

The old king upon his throne mumbled something incomprehensible. The man at his side bent down to lend an ear, his head turned close. Legolas sensed the guards shifting uneasily at this. The pale man listened to Théoden's words and then laughed grimly.

"A just question, my liege," he said, turning back to the Company. "Why do you lay these troubles on an already troubled mind? Rohan has no desire to form alliances with strangers from distant lands. Can you not see? The King is wearied by your malcontent - your war-mongering."

"War is already upon us," said Legolas. "Mordor amasses its forces in the East, and smoke rises daily from the forges of Isengard."

The pale man's eyes flashed at this.

"That is a lie!" he hissed. "Saruman the White has ever been our friend and ally. If I were you I would hold my tongue, lest it be cut out to spare the king more of your venomous lies."

Legolas was taken aback by these words. Behind him the hobbits drew close to one another; Pippin eyed the guards with alarm. This time Gimli stepped forward before anyone could stop him.

"And what pray does the king have to say of this?" he asked. "Why must he speak through a vassal? Is his mind so poisoned by Saruman's lies that he has lost the power of speech?"

This time the guards stood forward, making to draw their swords. Gimli drew back to stand next to Legolas, but his eyes never left the pale man as he held up a placating hand to the guards.

"Stand down," he ordered. "Weapons should not be drawn in the presence of the king."

"But, my lord Wormtongue-"

The man named Wormtongue shot the guards a fierce look, as if daring them to challenge his authority. Slowly the guards lowered their weapons and stood down, but not without an anxious glance towards their king.

"We have listened to your concerns," said Wormtongue, his voice now calm as he addressed the Company. "The king has no need of an alliance and can provide no further news about this Boromir of whom you speak. You may take the horses that you have acquired if it will speed you sooner from this place, but I would suggest that you leave without making further threats and false accusations. My patience grows thin."

Legolas sensed that Gimli wished to protest, but he simply shook his head at the dwarf and bade him keep his silence, knowing that they were indeed thwarted. Soon the guards began to usher them out, their hands resting threateningly upon the swords hanging at their belts. Legolas took one last glance towards the old king bent in his throne as the doors rolled back and a keen air came whistling into the hall.

Nobody noticed a lady clad in white watching events from the shadows.

**XXX**

The wide plains opened out grey before them as night came down from the mountains. It was perhaps an hour or two before midnight, and a cold breeze blew about the hollow where the Company had made their camp for the night, carrying their voices for a distance across the windswept landscape. They sat huddled about a small fire with their cloaks drawn close and their backs to the wind, warming their hands upon the roaring flames and speaking together in hushed voices. The horses roamed nearby grazing upon the long grass.

"These Rohirrim pay tribute to Mordor in horses each year," said Gimli. "Why should we expect a welcome? And why should we want it?"

The fire crackled and rustled, sending orange sparks leaping into the air. Pippin reached over and prodded at the flames with a dry stick, watching as it caught aflame before throwing it into the heart of the fire. Sam sat to his right with a blanket thrown across his shoulders; beside him Merry was fast asleep.

"Nay," said Legolas over the renewed crackling. "The Rohirrim value their horses more than anything and would never send them away as tribute. I suspect such tales were simply a rumour to draw attention away from Saruman's betrayal."

Pippin spoke little, and only served to keep the fire stoked with kindling as the flames greedily devoured each faggot. It felt as though a chill lay upon his very bones, and he shivered and drew his cloak a little closer. Perhaps it was the talk of Mordor and of fair horses bent to such evil, but he could almost imagine that he heard hoofbeats upon the air.

He froze and then listened again. He was not imagining things.

"I hear a horse approaching," he cried, leaping to his feet.

Soon they could all hear the sound of hoofbeats. Taking up their weapons the Company swiftly made ready about the fire; Legolas shook Merry awake and bid him to draw his elven dagger. They were still in the land of the Rohirrim and so remained subject to their authority. Pippin feared that the king's guards were coming to arrest them, or else that they had changed their minds and were coming back to reclaim the horses.

As the hoofbeats grew louder, however, it soon became apparent that it was not the king's guards. A lone horse and its rider came into view. No warrior did they see, but a dark figure, hooded and cloaked. The rider stopped just short of their camp and quickly dismounted, standing hidden in the darkling light, silent and motionless.

Gimli raised his axe.

"We can go no further this night," he cried, "so do not chase us from your lands, horse-master!"

There was no answer. Slowly the figure stepped into the light of the fire and cast back their hood. The Company was astonished to look upon a woman. Very fair was her face, and her long hair was like a river of gold. Beneath her cloak a fair corslet could be seen glinting in the firelight; the folds of a fine white dress hung down past her ankles. Slender and tall she was, yet strong she seemed and stern as steel. A sword hung sheathed at her horse's saddle.

The Company lowered their weapons in embarrassment at the sight.

"Hail travellers!" she cried, using the Common Speech of the West. "I am Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, Lady of Rohan. I journeyed hither to speak with you, far from the discourtesy of our halls." At this she paused, and her face became grave. "There is evil afoot in Rohan. My uncle the king is ailing. Those who remain loyal to their country are banished or put to death by command of the traitor Gríma Wormtongue. I have seen his lies corrupt many men. I am tracking now my brother, Éomer. He leads a company of loyal men north and away from these lands. My hope is that together we may yet reclaim the throne."

"Yes, my lady," said Legolas, finding it hard to conceal the wonder in his voice. "We met Éomer and his men just yesterday, and spoke with him a little. They will not be far from this place."

"That is a great comfort to learn," Éowyn said. Her expression softened a little. "War is brewing, and orcs bearing the white hand of Saruman have been roaming freely across our lands. A week ago my cousin Théodred was slain in battle with them at the Fords of Isen. If we do not defend our country then Saruman will take it by force. The loyal Eorlingas will answer the call, with or without the consent of their king."

"And what of you, my lady?" asked Merry.

Grave and thoughtful was her glance as Éowyn looked upon the Company.

"I can ride and wield blade," she said after a moment. "I shall follow my brother into battle for whatever valour is left to be gained in these dark days."

"Hardy are the men of Rohan," said Gimli in astonishment, "and the women also."

Éowyn bowed her head a little. For a moment still as stone she stood, then turning swiftly she made for her horse.

Sam stepped forward hastily.

"You are riding further this night?" he asked. "If so we would gladly offer you fire and company, at least for a few hours. You have a long journey ahead of you."

The others looked upon Sam in surprise. Éowyn halted in her steps and turned back to face him, her long hair cascading over her shoulder. She took in his eager face and then the rest of the Company, along with the crackling fire. The chill wind stirred the folds of her dress as a smile came slowly to her face.

"It is indeed a long journey," she said. "And I am sure that a few hours will not delay me much."

And so gladly she accepted Sam's offer and joined them before the fire, sharing with them a little of the provisions she carried as her horse was left to graze with the others. And so they all made a hearty meal and sat long into the night, speaking of things both old and new as the fire slowly died before them.


	10. Minas Tirith

_And so we finally reach Gondor, yay! :D I can't remember how many years ago I first drafted this chapter, but it needed quite a bit of editing to get into postable shape! The internet was invaluable in helping me to get my bearings and figure out the timeline/geography of events in this chapter (and the entire fic). Many of the descriptions are based upon Gandalf and Pippin's approach to Gondor in the books, so all hail the mighty Tolkien for his original prose and snatches of dialogue.  
_

_And yet another evil cliffhanger to agonise over, I'm afraid! As I've already mentioned from now on events will veer away sharply from canon, and as Book Two starts to draw to a close things are set to get even darker. Believe me – you ain't seen nothing yet!_

**XX****X**

At last weak sunlight began to slowly alight upon the distant mountains. Éowyn turned and looked upon the approaching dawn, her pale face awash with its golden hue.

"I am afraid that I must leave you now," she said with a sigh. "I shall be found gone when the courts awake at sunrise. A few loyal guards helped to disguise my going at great risk, but I had not the time to clad myself as a rider."

Although she had only planned to stay with the Company for a few hours Éowyn had enjoyed their companionship so much that time had slipped away before she knew it. As they sat gathered about the fire they had told her a little about themselves and of their journey to Rohan. The loss of their companions they spoke of sparingly, and only then at great need. Éowyn could tell that their grief for the hobbit Frodo, in particular, was still very fresh.

As the night wore on she had taken to sitting and speaking with Sam, offering him whatever comfort she could as she told him of the death of her cousin; it was her hope to bring meaning to his death through her efforts to liberate Rohan. Eventually the others had drifted off around them, and she and Sam had succumbed to sleep after they had both given voice to their grief.

Taking a bundle from her horse Windfola's saddle Éowyn knelt down and unwrapped the heavy cloth upon the grass. Within lay an assortment of salted meats, and unwrapping another she revealed some dried fruit and a little bread.

"Here are some provisions I packed for my journey," she said. "It is not much, but I hope that it will help to keep you on the road ahead. It is the least I can offer in return for your hospitality."

Sam stood and bowed low, moved by this gesture.

"You have been most kind, Lady Éowyn."

Carefully Éowyn wrapped the provisions once more and secured the cloth with a loose knot. Sam stood awkwardly for a moment before turning away and delving into his own pack, drawing out a few leaves of _lembas _still in their leaf wrappings.

"I hope that you will accept this in return," he said. "It is the waybread of the Elves. We have more than we could possibly eat, and I am sure that you will appreciate it more than us, if you get my drift."

Éowyn smiled at this, and her hair fell across her face as she bowed in return before accepting the gift with great reverence.

"This is most kind, Master Gamgee," she said. "I hope that you may find some peace upon your road."

When all was made ready Éowyn leapt upon Windfola's back. She had cast off her heavy cloak and her corslet during the course of the night, returning them to the bundle at her horse's saddle. Now she sat in the saddle clad only in her long white dress, girt with a fine gold belt at the waist, and a pair of high boots of supple leather. A daughter of kings she looked in her finery, but her face was grave as she cast her eyes upon the distant plains.

"I ride now to meet my brother and muster the Rohirrim for war," she said. "Alas, that we must depart in this growing darkness, but perhaps our paths shall cross again in the coming days." She smiled on them and said: "_Ferthu hal! _I hope that Mundburg brings you closer to that which you seek. Farewell!"

Then she turned and rode away, her golden hair streaming in the wind as her horse sprang away across the rolling plains. The Company watched her go with heavy hearts, gathered before the remnants of their campfire.

"I dearly hope we shall see her again," said Merry. "I wonder if her people can survive this war?"

"We must count on it," said Legolas. "But come now! Let us pack up our camp and stumble on as best we can."

And so it was that with the first light of dawn the remaining members of the Company turned towards their own road, packing up their camp and saddling their horses with the extra provisions which they now carried. With lighter hearts and heavier packs they thus began upon the long road to Minas Tirith.

**XX****X**

The cheer that Éowyn's company had brought them proved to be short-lived. Later that day rain clouds descended and the sun was lost to view as a storm swept across the plains. Huddled in their elven cloaks the Company struggled on, taking shelter wherever they could as they passed into the borderlands of Rohan. The clouds finally broke with the coming of darkness, although thunder rumbled ominously in the distance as flashes of lightning illuminated the sky to the north, threatening storms over the land that they just left far behind.

On they rode as the days and the leagues fell away, taking them across the Eastfold and leading them through the marshy pools and mists of the Fenmarch. In places here the grass grew so tall that it reached Legolas' knees as he sat mounted upon Arod; great swathes of oak trees climbed the slopes upon their right before they plunged into a deep cleft among the mountains.

As darkness descended upon the second day the Company crossed the Mering Stream over a small bridge made of stone. The dense trees of Halifirien grew upon its banks, and as they rode beneath its eaves a powerful silence seemed to press upon them, urging them to speak in hushed tones of reverence. Not until they emerged from the Whispering Wood upon the Great Road did they finally enter the realm of Gondor, for the forest was considered the domain of the Kings of Rohan despite its fringes extending far into the land of Anórien.

Thus they passed out of Rohan for the first time since descending from the Emyn Muil on that fateful day so long ago, and the dark lands of Gondor opened out before them, formless and vast in the lingering dusk. That night they rested as first Legolas and then Gimli took turns keeping watch. As soon as the sun kindled the white peaks of the distant mountains Gimli shook the others awake. In the chill grey mists of the dawn they set off again.

Several hours of hard riding passed as the morning wore on. Suddenly Legolas gave a cry and pointed to something ahead. They slowed their horses as a large stone wall loomed ominously from the morning mists.

They had reached the north-gate of Rammas Echor, the great wall which encircled Minas Tirith and the outlying pastures and homesteads of the Pelennor Fields. Here men could be seen working with hammers and trowels to repair a section of the partly ruinous wall; torches were thrust into the ground at intervals and glowed dully in the fog.

As the Company approached men came swiftly to bar their way. Pippin peered out warily from behind Legolas as he slowed their horse. These guards wore heavy cloaks and were very tall; one bore a torch in his hand. Their leader stepped forward and studied the company with dubious eyes, especially the hobbits.

"Who are you that seek passage here?" said he. "We wish for no strangers in this land, unless they be mighty men of arms in whose faith and help we can trust. Are you dwarves out of the mountains in the North?"

"I am a dwarf," said Gimli, "but the leader of our company is an elf from Mirkwood." The guard bearing the torch came a little closer. The others gasped a little at the sight of Legolas sitting erect upon his horse.

"We have travelled many leagues from our homelands," said Legolas, "but not so far as have our companions. You may know them as halflings." He saw the wonder in the men's faces and quickly added: "Nay, not the one that was spoken of lately, but two of them are his kindred."

"This is strange indeed!" said the man in wonder. "It seems that you come to us straight out of legend. What brings you here from such distant lands?"

"We come to bring counsel," Legolas said simply.

"Good counsel, I hope," said the guard. "My name is Ingold. I am leader of this company. My men are repairing the damage done to this wall and fortifying it against future attacks. War is upon us."

"It is upon us all," said Legolas. "My companions and I have already seen battle and passed through great perils on our journey. And as for valour, that cannot be computed by stature. If it comforts you, however, we set out from Rivendell with Boromir of Gondor many months ago."

"Boromir?" one man said in surprise. "You rode with Boromir?"

"Yes," said Legolas. "For a time. Has he passed through this gate?"

"I am afraid not," said Ingold. He thought for a moment. "But this past day a strange thing happened. During the night a horse appeared at the gate. We thought that it had lost its rider, for it had both saddle and bridle still attached. One of my men took it by the reins and calmly led it inside the gate, but no sooner had he done so then it suddenly reared up and then bolted into the night. We never recovered it."

Legolas felt Pippin's arms tighten about his waist. He could guess what must have happened.

"Did this horse come from Rohan?" Legolas said. "There have been reports of horses being stolen in raids across that land."

"I believe so," said Ingold. "We have heard grave rumour of war in the Folde. The days have grown dark indeed."

Legolas turned and exchanged a look with Gimli beside him. Obviously Boromir had put on the Ring as he approached the gate and rendered himself invisible. Once his horse had been led past the guards he had then spurred it onwards and disappeared unseen into the night. His paranoia over the Ring must have been very strong if he was unwilling to trust his own kinsmen.

Ingold lapsed into silence as he considered them for a moment. Then he gestured to the men beside him. In the flickering light of the torches the guards stood down.

"You have convinced me of your good faith," Ingold said. "And I believe that we can trust you, despite your strange garb and short statures." The others laughed. "The Lord of Minas Tirith will be eager to see any that bear tidings of his son, but you shall need to know the pass-words of the Seven Gates to proceed."

He then proceeded to give them the words which would allow them to pass the Great Gate of Minas Tirith and reach the Citadel at its summit, where they could be granted an audience with the Steward. They thanked Ingold for this kind gesture, and were then led through the narrow gate and past the men who continued with their repairs upon the wall.

"Tell me," said Ingold, as they prepared to leave, "do you know aught of the Rohirrim? Will they answer the summons to war, if the beacons of Amon Dîn are kindled?"

"They will answer," Legolas said. "But they are set to fight many battles at your back. This road and no road looks towards safe lands any longer. A host of foes may yet come here, and no Riders of Rohan. Be vigilant!"

**XX****X**

Soon the Company left the sound of beating hammers behind them as they passed into that wide land beyond the Rammas Echor. As the sun climbed steadily in the sky they passed through the rich townlands and fertile fields of the Pelennor; here there dwelt herdsmen and husbandmen who tilled the earth and harvested food and livestock for those folk who lived in the seven circles of the City.

As they followed the North-way through this land the bleak mountains of the East barred the sky to their left, rising from a sea of mist from the distant Land of Shadow. To their right the White Mountains of Ered Nimrais marched in formation from the West to a steep and sudden end. And there the Company saw, as their horses climbed a sudden rise, the dark height of Mount Mindolluin and the Guarded City looming upon its out-thrust knee, as though it were carven from the very bones of the earth.

The Company paused at the summit of the rise and gazed long upon the sight in wonder. Nothing could have prepared them for the sheer size and majesty of Minas Tirith as it rose before them, its high walls of white stone blushing faintly in the sun. The tower of Echthelion was smote by a sudden shaft of sunlight, and even as they watched it stood out and glittered like a spike of pearl and silver. Great banners of white stirred upon those high walls, and from afar came the clear ringing of silver trumpets upon the morning breeze.

"Fair are the works of men!" cried Legolas. "Once I thought the golden hall of Edoras a marvel, but now I see that I was mistaken!" He turned to the others. "Come. If we ride hard without another rest we shall be inside the walls within an hour."

**XX****X**

So they rode on tirelessly towards the Great Gate of the Men of Gondor and were looked upon in wonder by the guards there, for it had been many an age since such a company of folk had rode hence to the City.

"Hail!" men cried as they approached. "Hail! For this is indeed a strange sight in such times! An elf and four dwarves come to the City! What marvelous steeds! Are you of the Rohirrim? Have they come to aid us in this war?"

"We are come from Rivendell," said Legolas. "Our steeds were gifts from the heir to the King of Rohan."

"And there is only one dwarf in this company," Gimli said. "Our companions are halflings of great renown. We travelled with the Lord Boromir from the North."

"Ah," said they. "So your company has become sundered? This past day the Lord Boromir passed these walls in the early hours of the morning. He was so exhausted that he fell from his horse. We took him up to the Citadel to recover and to see the Steward. He has been hidden away from sight ever since."

"Do you know where he is now?" asked Sam.

"We have heard rumour that he takes counsel with the Lord Denethor," said the foremost guard. "He has been away almost a year now on an unknown errand, and news of his arrival spread like wildfire. By noon yesterday the entire city knew of his return, and he shall be forced to reveal himself soon lest the news be dismissed as mere rumour. There will be much rejoicing this day."

**XX****X**

So they surmised that Boromir took counsel with the Steward behind closed doors, and had not given any order to apprehend them or otherwise impede their progress. As the iron doors rolled back before them they thus passed through the Gate without challenge and began the long paved way up the seven levels of Minas Tirith.

For the fashion of the City was such that it was built on seven levels delved into the very rock of Mindolluin, each set with a wall and a gate at different alignments in order to thwart an attacking host. Each time that the road passed the line of the Great Gate it went through an archway piercing a huge bastion of rock, rising up from the rear of the great court beyond the Gate like the keel of a great ship. It was crowned with a battlement, and here a long lamplit slope ran up to the seventh gate and the Citadel beyond. The White Tower rose up from the High Court beyond the Place of the Fountain, measuring fifty fathoms from base to pinnacle, and the banner of the Stewards stirred at its height a thousand feet above the plain.

As they rode through the stone streets Sam voiced his wish to demand an entrance with the Steward, but Legolas decided that they should rest for a few hours first. Luck had brought them safely not only through the Rammas Echor but into the City, and he did not wish to make their presence known more boldly than was necessary. It was unlikely that Boromir would be found in a conciliatory mood, especially with the Ring in his possession.

In time they came to the Citadel. Here they dismounted from their tired steeds, who were led away to be housed nearby. It seemed that word of their coming had preceded them, and the men there greeted the Company kindly, leading them to a house close to the shoulder of the mountain which stood in a lane between tall buildings of stone. Upon the first floor above the street they were shown to a sparsely furnished room, with gold hangings upon the walls and a high balcony which looked down upon the Pelennor Fields below. A number of men brought them wicker baskets filled with bread and butter, cheese, meats and the last of the winter store of apples. Ale they had in plenty.

"We have brought all that can be spared for so large a company," they said. "Eat now and rest. Perhaps you shall be granted an audience with the Steward later this day. We sense important happenings are afoot."

The Company gave their thanks as the men left. Then they took a little food and drink and sat together in their chamber, deciding upon their next course of action. It was a strange place that they had come to, knowing not whether to grieve, to forgive or to seek vengeance upon the man they had pursued across hundreds of leagues. Their course of action must be considered carefully, for whatever they did might land them in grave disfavour.

Sam said nothing but sat in the corner, chewing thoughtfully upon an apple.

**XX****X**

The weary Company rested the better part of the morning, awaiting some favourable news. In the curtained alcoves of the room there stood many beds, and also vessels and basins for washing. Merry and Pippin, exhausted from the long hours of riding, had swiftly fallen asleep; Gimli and Sam sat together at the small table. Legolas splashed his face with some water from one of the basins. Then he walked out onto the balcony and looked out over the deep stone still, lost in thought as he pondered Aragorn's words by the Silverlode so long ago.

Soon Legolas took his leave of the others, going out into the street to speak with one of the guards at the Gate. They were robed all in black, and on their heads they wore strange silver helms set with the white wings of sea-birds; upon their black surcoats stood the emblem of a white tree blossoming beneath a crown and set about with stars. A guard named Beregond was happy to oblige his questions, although he was on duty as sentinel and could not stray from the vicinity of the Gate.

"What of the Steward?" Legolas said. "And the Lord Boromir? Men say they have been in counsel through the night, but surely they must emerge soon?"

"I know not," said Beregond. "It is either dire or fair news that keeps them so. Lord Boromir left the city last summer and has been on a long and difficult journey. Perhaps he is simply taking some rest whilst he can."

"Perhaps," Legolas said.

After speaking with Beregond a little longer Legolas thanked him and turned away, intending to return to the others. Suddenly he became aware of the distant cries of men and the sound of hurried footsteps and clanking armour. It was coming from the direction of the fountain.

Beregond turned as he heard the noise too. The next moment Legolas watched in astonishment as Pippin came racing towards them down the paved street.

"You must come quick!" he cried. "Sam has run away!"

Legolas' heart lurched with fear as Pippin halted before him.

"Where did he go?" he said. "How long has he been gone?"

"I don't know," said Pippin. His face was very red. "Gimli told me to come and get you. He has gone with Merry to go and look for him. They think that he has gone to find Boromir."

Legolas did not need to hear any more. They left Beregond at the Gate as they raced up the street towards the white-paved court before the Hall of the Kings. There they found a huge commotion unfolding upon the sward of grass before the fountain. Beneath a dead tree drooping over the pool lingered many guards; more stood at the doors of the great hall beneath the White Tower which were fast closed. Pippin turned and saw a crowd gathering at the Gate behind them. Beregond and his men were barring their way.

Gimli approached them when they reached the fountain, with Merry following close behind. Legolas could tell by the look upon their faces that they bore bad news.

"Sam has been arrested," said Gimli. "He slipped away whilst we slept and demanded an audience with the Steward. Then he attacked Boromir when he emerged from the doors behind us. There was nothing that we could do."


	11. Isildur's Bane

_Oh Eru, you have no idea how much trouble it was to put this chapter together! I had a lot of material to use and wanted to keep the word count consistent with other updates - in the end a whole scene ended up on the cutting room floor. I think it was for the best, however, as it just didn't mesh that well with the flow of the plot. Denethor is an extremely hard individual to pin down to say the least, but I believe that Gandalf's distrust of the guy's intentions in the book was pretty much spot on. He is only human after all! _

_I've drawn from the book at times to describe Faramir's appearance and to set the scene during his talk with Denethor. A few pieces of book/movie dialogue are also thrown in for good measure. As always I've worked hard to make things original whilst sticking close to the source material. I really enjoy reading each and every review, so please keep them coming! Just one more chapter of Book Two to go...  
_

**XXX**

It was some time before Legolas and Gimli gained entrance inside the Hall of the Kings. Rumours had spread like wildfire about the City that a halfling had attacked the Lord Boromir, and so they had taken Merry and Pippin back to their lodging in order to keep them safe. On their way there the distant but high note of a trumpet came winding up from the plain far below.

Men were hurrying about as they returned to the lawn before the fountain. There they found the doors of the hall unguarded, and cautiously they entered the great house of stone beyond.

A long paved passage stretched out before them. At its end was set a tall door of polished metal, and their footsteps echoed strangely as they approached it. A number of high windows looked down upon the City below. Before one of these stood a tall man in the light of the afternoon sun. When he heard their approach he turned and regarded them with a searching glance.

He was dark of hair, and his grey eyes were very keen and bright. Clad in hues of green and brown he appeared to have only lately arrived from some errand. His dark cloak was flung back to reveal a surcoat emblazoned with the same emblem of a white tree worn by the guards at the Gate.

At once Legolas thought of Boromir, for this man was very much like him in stature and bearing. His face was stern and commanding, although not without warmth. He rested a gloved hand upon the sword at his belt.

"Well met, strangers," he said. "Have you come to seek an audience with the Steward?"

"We have," said Legolas, "although we are not sure if he wishes to see us."

"Then it seems that we are here on common purpose," the man said. "I am Faramir, Captain of Gondor. I have ridden through the night to speak with my father, so I must ask that you forgive my intrusion. The guards have gone ahead to announce my arrival."

"Your father?" said Gimli.

"I am the son of the Steward," said Faramir. His gaze lingered upon them in interest at their reaction to this, but he did not comment upon it. "Now you know something of me," he added, "but I know very little of you. What brings you to the White City? It has been many years since I saw an elf in these lands, let alone an elf accompanied by a dwarf!"

"We have come to petition our friend's release," said Legolas. "He has been arrested."

"I am sorry to hear that," Faramir said, "but I know better than any the laws of my father. Your friend will be given a fair trial to prove his innocence."

"That is our fear," said Legolas. "His actions were born of madness but hardly reason."

These words seemed to give Faramir pause. As he stood in contemplation the sound of footsteps grew. Soon the door behind him opened a fraction and two guards emerged into the passage. With a nod of his head Faramir turned on his heel and strode past them and into the solemn hall beyond. The door closed behind him with a resounding slam.

"We should go," said Legolas, eyeing the guards with alarm. "There is no need to give the Steward further reason to distrust us."

Gimli nodded his agreement, but something very strange happened when they turned aside to leave. One of the guards approached and bowed low in the manner of a herald.

"I bring a message for Legolas of Mirkwood," he said in a low voice. "Lord Boromir summons you to a private audience in his chamber."

"Boromir wishes to see us?" said Gimli in astonishment.

"He did not mention others," said the guard. He turned to Legolas. "You must come now, or the invitation shall be revoked. It is most urgent."

**XXX**

So at length Faramir came to the private chamber of the Lord of the City. Removed a little in the corner stood a brazier of charcoal, and around it were set deep seats and a table laden with wine and a little bread. The Lord Denethor sat in a fine chair set apart from the others, his long curved nose in stark profile against the fire before him. In his hand was a goblet of wine.

His dark eyes remained fixed upon the fire as Faramir entered. He had the look of someone who has been wrestling with dark thoughts for some time; his hand was trembling as he took a long draught of wine. The air of the room was close and still.

"So you have returned," Denethor said softly. "I was beginning to think that you might never arrive."

"Yestereve I arrived with my men at Henneth Annûn," answered Faramir. "There your errand-rider was waiting for me. I have ridden fast and far."

"And what news do you bring me from our outer defences?"

"My lord, Osgiliath is overrun."

Denethor regarded him coolly.

"Much must be risked in war," he said. "It matters not. We must strike at the heart of Mordor if we are to defeat this Enemy."

"I do not understand," said Faramir. "What would you have me do?"

As he spoke he swayed a little and leaned upon a low chair at his father's side. Denethor stared down into his goblet of wine.

"You are weary, I see," he said. "Take a seat. We have much to discuss before this day is done."

And so Faramir settled down opposite his father. The brazier stood between them as it warmed the room, its flames crackling softly as Faramir spoke of the errand upon which he had been sent out ten days before. He brought tidings from the land of Ithilien, now veiled in the shadow of Mordor, and of the movements of the Enemy and his allies; a captain reporting to his master such matters as had often been heard before, small things of border-war that now seemed useless and petty, shorn of their renown.

And as if these were his thoughts Denethor suddenly looked at Faramir.

"But now we come to other matters," he said. "For I shall trust to you in the privacy of this chamber the true reason for my summons. Your brother returned from Rivendell this past day. He brought me a mighty gift."

At this Faramir sat up and gripped the arms of his chair.

"_For Isildur's Bane shall waken_," he recited. "_And the Halfling forth shall stand_."

And he said no more for a time, becoming suddenly grave and silent. Denethor brought the goblet of wine to his lips again as his son stood up and paced the floor.

"Does this news trouble you?" said Denethor.

"I wish to learn more of it," Faramir said, coming to a standstill. "Clearly it is a mighty heirloom of power and peril. A fell weapon, perchance, devised by the Dark Lord. Do I guess correctly?" His father said nothing. Faramir stood for a moment in thought. "But it was at the coming of the halflings that Isildur's Bane should waken, or so one must read the words."

"There are halflings in the City," said Denethor. "One now resides in my prison."

Faramir drew a deep breath.

"This is news indeed," he said. He mentioned nothing of his earlier meeting, but felt Denethor's eyes watching him intently. Soon his restraint gave way. "But I rejoice to hear that my brother has returned from the Northlands! Where is he now? I wish to speak with him."

The face of Denethor set hard and cold.

"He rests in his chamber at present. I would advise you not to disturb him. He has much to think about."

And it was then that Faramir noticed something hanging upon a fine chain about his father's neck. It glinted fiercely as the flames from the brazier reflected in its surface. Denethor gave a slow smile as he saw the recognition spark in his son's eyes.

**XXX**

Legolas hurried after his escorting guard, past rows of candelabra which illuminated the passageways. The rulers of Gondor did not keep their lodgings in the Tower of Ecthelion, but in the King's House which stood behind it to the west. Like most structures within the Citadel it was a grand building crafted from white stone. The majesty of this place dwarfed even the dwellings that Legolas kept in the elven halls of his father.

As they went down another turn they came upon two guards posted before a chamber at the end of a short passage. Legolas said nothing of this arrangement as his escort knocked firmly upon the chamber door. A set of standards flanked the entrance bearing the insignia of the White Tree.

Shortly a muffled voice sounded from within. The escorting guard took up the iron ring upon the door. As it swung inwards with a groan he stepped aside and gestured for Legolas to enter.

The antechamber within was dark, although sunlight fell from a small window and scattered about the marble floor. A bench stood next to a low arch at the far end of the chamber. Legolas caught a glimpse of a table scattered with books and withered parchments in the next room. In a curtained alcove opposite the window stood Boromir, studying a large mural set against the wall.

He was dressed in a rich shirt lined with gold trim at the collar and sleeves, and his fur-lined cloak hung almost to the floor. His dark hair was combed and arrayed upon his shoulders. As Legolas approached he saw that Boromir was studying a painted landscape depicting a great battle of old. He did not turn around.

"This chamber was once used by my grandfather," Boromir said. "He had this mural painted to record the battles of his forefathers. It was to serve as a reminder of the glory of the Gondor of old."

Legolas made no answer. He could not see Boromir's expression and feared some trap. This talk might yet take a dangerous turn.

"My father would have you think that the guards outside are for my protection," said Boromir. "That would be a lie. The truth is that they are there as much for his protection as for mine." He turned away from the mural, regarding Legolas with a strange glint in his eyes. "The Ring has even the power to make a father turn upon his own son."

Legolas took a moment to register the significance of these words.

"Denethor has the Ring?"

Boromir smiled grimly.

"He knew that I would not give it to him willingly. Eventually it was handed over at the point of a sword."

It seemed to Legolas as though Boromir looked very weary, as if a heavy weight had come to settle upon his shoulders. Legolas felt a flush of pity for him. It quickly faded.

"You are probably wondering why I asked to see you," Boromir added. "I wish to make amends. I have thought long over all that has happened. I do not blame you for pursuing me here, but you must know things are not as they seem. Sam has every right to be angry with me, but he acted rashly. I did not kill Frodo."

"I saw what you did," said Legolas sternly. "You took the Ring and fled before you could be brought to account for your actions. There were signs of a struggle-"

"I did not kill Frodo!" Boromir cried.

His yell echoed strangely about the chamber. Legolas was shocked by this sudden outburst. He did not know what to say as Boromir passed a trembling hand across his face.

"I struggled with Frodo," said Boromir quietly. "That much is true. I hoped to convince him to take the Ring to Gondor. He refused. Anger took me and I admit that I forgot myself for a time. I tried to take the Ring."

Legolas took this in and nodded slowly. He did his best to suppress the anger he felt rising inside him.

"Frodo tried to fight back but madness had seized me," said Boromir. "I said terrible things to him. I realise now what a fool I was. Frodo did the only thing that he could and put on the Ring to escape me."

"Frodo would not have put on the Ring except in dire need," Legolas said. "I cannot imagine what you must have said."

Boromir bowed his head. There was a haunted look in his eyes which spoke of intense suffering. Without the Ring to dull his mind guilt had obviously been plaguing his thoughts since his arrival at Minas Tirith.

"I do not wish to relive it," Boromir said. "When I realised what I had done I went to look for Frodo, begging his forgiveness, but it was too late. The Ring had slipped from his finger as he ran. He struck his head as he tried to catch it."

Legolas thought back to the events upon Amon Hen. Perhaps in their haste to make sense of Frodo's death he and Gimli had assigned blame where it did not belong.

Boromir sensed his companion's inner struggle, for he did not press his case any further. Instead he simply said: "I did not kill Frodo. But that does not mean that I do not feel responsible for his death. Neither does it make what I did right."

Boromir lapsed into silence at these words. The dying sunlight cast strange shadows across his tired face, and Legolas sensed that his audience was steadily drawing to a close. He stole an anxious glance towards the chamber door.

"You must convince your father to release Sam," Legolas said pleadingly. "If you do not blame him for his actions then he has no right to hold him still."

"The laws of my country are final," said Boromir. "Only my father has the power to pardon Sam."

"Then I must get a message to him."

"You have no idea of the events now in motion," said Boromir scathingly. "Do you think that my father shall be satisfied to hide himself away in his chamber? I said that the Ring should be used only at the uttermost end of need, but my father is determined to challenge Mordor for supremacy. He has already used the _palantír _to converse with the Dark Lord himself."

"But this is madness!" cried Legolas aghast. "There is no chance of victory against Mordor. The Ring cannot be used in this war!"

"The decision is no longer mine to make," said Boromir. "The Ring has a new master now. And as for passing on a message to Sam, you may give it to the guard who escorted you here. He is loyal and shall not betray it to any other. But be careful what you reveal! Your words may fall on unfriendly ears in these dark halls."

"But you cannot give up so easily!" said Legolas. "You must speak with your father."

"It is futile," Boromir answered. "Even if I wished it I could not stop this. Tomorrow the armies of Gondor shall march upon the Black Gate."

"And you would gladly ride into battle even if it spelled your own doom?"

"All that I do is for the glory of Gondor," said Boromir quietly. "My own death matters not. I wish to see the White City stand for another ten thousand years. The threat of Mordor must be vanquished at any cost."

"And what about Sam?" said Legolas. "You cannot just leave him here."

"Sam has already made his choice," said Boromir. "I bear no grudge towards the others. Either you stand and fight with us or you leave Gondor to its fate. We ride for the Black Gate in the morning."

His cloak swept behind him as Boromir turned away and disappeared into the inner chamber. Meanwhile Legolas lingered in the shadowed alcove outside, pondering these last words as the visage of Isildur gazed down upon him from on high.

**XXX**

Darkness descended early that day. Before the closing hour the summons went around the City for three thousand able-bodied men to muster themselves for battle against Mordor. Fear swept the streets but also hope, for it was now known that the Lords Boromir and Faramir had returned.

In the evening the Company gathered once again in their darkened lodging, lit softly by a little lantern set upon the table. The glow of it played upon their faces as they sat or stood about, consumed by their own private thoughts. In the distance three clear notes sounded as the bell in the tower of the citadel rang. It was now the third hour since the setting of the sun.

Legolas stood alone upon the balcony, looking out across the walls of Minas Tirith towards Mordor. The fires of Orodruin rumbled ominously in this empty landscape, painting the jagged mountains red against the looming clouds above.

"If only Aragorn was here," thought Legolas, but he said nothing. "He would know the right words to say. I am but an elf who knows little of the world of men. What is it that I am meant to do?"

Lights sprang in many windows, but along the walls there came no voices raised in song or cheer. It seemed as though the entire city was taking a deep breath before the plunge.

"It's so quiet," said Gimli. He was sitting at the table smoking thoughtfully upon his pipe. Merry stood beside his bed, folding his traveling clothes. He was dressed now in only his shirt and a pair of dark breeches. In the corner Pippin sat staring down at the elven knife in his hands.

"Three thousand men," said Pippin. "Many of them must have families. I wonder how they are spending their final hours together?"

For a time nobody spoke. A cold wind blew and caused the white flags and standards of the citadel to flap in the night breeze. At length Legolas turned from the sill and the sleeping city down below, standing to face his companions in the flickering lantern light.

"So be it," he said. "There is no escaping the coming storm. At sunrise the armies of Gondor shall ride to the Black Gate, and I shall be going with them." He stepped forward. "Lord Elrond said that no oath or bond held us to go further then we willed. If you wish then the rest of you may stay here in Minas Tirith or return to your homes. You shall bear no dishonour."

Merry paused as he folded his elven cloak. At the table Gimli leant forward and lowered his pipe, his face illuminated by the glow of the lantern.

"I promised that I would be by your side no matter what," said Gimli. He gently tapped the ashes from his pipe into a bowl set upon the table. "I intend to keep to my word."

"I should never doubt the stubborn nature of the dwarves," said Legolas with a smile.

Merry drew himself up proudly.

"And have you forgotten all that you have learnt of hobbits?" he said. "I am coming too, unless you wish to send me home tied up in that sack after all!"

Legolas gave a laugh of relief.

"I do not," he said. "And I have not forgotten, Merry. I am very glad that you are coming with us. I fear that we shall need all the help we can get."

Even as he spoke Pippin rose from his seat. He was still holding his elven knife in its sheath.

"Frodo would not have given up," he said. "He would have fought until the end."

Legolas glanced up at these words. He had never heard the young hobbit with such conviction in his voice.

"I don't want to be in a battle," Pippin added. "But waiting on the edge of one I can't escape is even worse. I do not wish to abandon my friends."

"What about Sam?" said Merry, voicing the question that nobody dared to ask.

Legolas looked at him gravely.

"There is nothing that we can do at present," he said. "For now we must think of the greater good. The Ring cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of the Enemy. Prison might be the least of Sam's worries."

Pippin frowned.

"So are we just going to leave him here?"

"What if it was one of us?" said Gimli as he drew on his pipe. "If we were left behind would we wish the others to give up hope? Would we want them to stand by whilst there was still strength left to fight?"

A thoughtful silence followed. Legolas crossed the room and came to sit with Gimli at the table. Merry had abandoned his clothes and now stood as still as stone. It was obvious that they had all come to a decision, although it remained to be seen whether it was for good or ill. The memory of all those whom they had lost seemed to weigh heavy upon them all.

"Let us wait upon tomorrow then," said Legolas with a sigh. "Doubtless there will be others feeling restless this night. Perhaps things will become a little clearer with the dawn."

There seemed nothing left to say. In the gathering darkness the Company prepared their weapons for the coming battle. Then they gathered about the table and raised a toast to their fallen companions. As the light of the lantern slowly failed they fell one by one into an uneasy sleep.


	12. Journey to the Crossroads

_Well, here it is! It took me a good deal longer to get this chapter finished and posted than I thought it would, so I apologize for keeping everyone in the lurch for so long. I was so wedded to the idea of six chapters per book that I was trying to force far too many events into one short chapter and it was kicking my ass. Eventually I decided to split this entire chapter into two, which means that there is one more chapter to go now before Book Two is finished. I'll try to get it up as soon as I can, I promise! :D_

_I hope this chapter does go some way to answering a few of the questions I've been asked recently. I've looked to the book in describing the journey to Mordor and much of the scene in front of the Black Gate. Faramir has also been given some of Gandalf's original dialogue as I felt that it suited him best._

******XXX**

The bells of day had scarcely rung out when Legolas stirred. He was surprised to find Pippin standing alone upon the balcony gazing eastward. He had his cloak cast about him against the early morning chill. He seemed very small as he stood framed against the distant gloom of the Ephel Dúath, thoughtful and silent.

Legolas rose from his bed and came to stand beside the hobbit. For a time Pippin did not speak, rousing only to lean forward and rest his folded arms upon the balcony. He stood barely a head above the stone sill.

"Mordor always seemed so far away," Pippin said quietly. "Often I thought it something Aragorn had dreamt up back in Bree in order to scare me stiff. Now I wish that I had been right. I do not like the look of it at all."

Legolas smiled.

"Long have the people of Gondor lived under the shadow of Mordor," he said. "I have never journeyed this far South in all my years. Great must have been its glory in the days of its rising."

Pippin nodded as he pulled his cloak tighter about his shoulders. Legolas saw that he was still wearing his traveling clothes beneath. It occurred to him that both he and Merry would need some proper armour before they rode out to battle that day.

"Have you slept?" said Legolas.

"A little," Pippin said, "but I'm afraid it did not do me much good. I kept having dreams about invading armies and riders robed in black." Pippin turned to Legolas. "Do elves ever dream? I do not think I have ever seen you sleep."

"I can sleep," said Legolas, "if it may be called as such by Men. My mind rests in the strange paths of elvish dreams even as I walk open-eyed in the living world. But I admit that such thoughts have also been troubling me."

As they watched a small bird winged across the brightening sky and alighted upon the nearby bell tower. Not since they had travelled through the land of Rohan had they heard the sound of birdsong. It seemed a strange thing in that city of stone.

"I wish we could visit Sam," said Pippin.

"As do I," said Legolas. "I do not like the idea of leaving him here alone any more than you do. But I secreted a message to him last night. He knows of our plans."

"You did?" said Pippin eagerly. "Did you receive a reply? What did he say?"

"I am assured he is being treated well," said Legolas. "Sam also said that he is sorry for the trouble he caused us, but that he had made a promise to Gandalf he intended to keep. We need not worry for now. Sam shall be a great deal safer here in Minas Tirith. The Steward is too busy waging war to pass sentence on his prisoners."

"I am glad to hear that," said Pippin. And he did not say anything more as they both gazed out across the waking City, watching the rising sun as it smote the top of the bell tower.

**XXX**

The forges had been busy all night. Their fires sank with the coming of day. In a few short hours the streets of Minas Tirith were lined with people. All were eager to watch as the army of Gondor departed the City. Legolas wondered at the size of the host which now assembled on the Pelennor. Three thousand men seemed to him naught but a scouting party barely suited to a rout of some border stronghold. It certainly stood no chance against the full might of Mordor.

Regardless the men rode the streets in their finery. Many bore standards emblazoned with the White Tree and a field of stars. The people of Gondor crowded the walls and doorways to catch a glimpse as they passed. Here and there Legolas caught a grim face amongst the jubilant masses. The older women threw flowers at the feet of the horses. Some at least did not seem so taken with the proclamations of the heralds.

Denethor rode at the head of this host. No longer did he seem but an old man. He wore a long black cloak and was clad in mail beneath, girt with a long sword in a hilt of black and silver. The Ring hung from a golden chain about his neck for all to see. So it was that he wished to wield the weapon of the Enemy for himself. Such was his blind arrogance and courage. His sons flanked him upon either side. Their reunion had taken place behind closed doors earlier that day.

Legolas and Gimli stood ready near the Great Gate as the host departed. They were to ride again together upon the horses Éomer had lent them; Aldor they left to be housed in the stables of the Citadel. The hobbits had left with Beregond a little earlier to visit the Old Guesthouse on Rath Celerdain, the Lampwrights' Street.

"I wonder what Boromir has told his brother of the Ring?" said Gimli.

"Perhaps not much," Legolas said. "But he must have guessed something of its nature. I think Faramir understands that events are now beyond his control. He cannot stand against his father in this. Nobody can."

It was not long before Merry and Pippin returned. They were clad now in hauberks of black and silver, although they wore their old clothes beneath this. At their belts hung a small sword and each wore a silver helm set with small raven-wings. They wore still the grey cloaks of Lórien and their elven knives. They looked very proud in their mismatched attire.

"We met Beregond's son," explained Merry. "He is named Bergil. He lent us what little armour he has. It was made especially in the armouries of the Citadel. Beregond found also a hauberk for me with shorter sleeves than most."

Since he had been at the Gate the day before Beregond knew that the hobbits had not been involved in Sam's attack on Boromir. He was the only man in the City who did not send them troubled glances as they prepared to move out with the army. Legolas had been very glad to hear that Beregond was not to ride out with them that day. Denethor had at least the sense to leave a contingent of men behind to guard the City. He just hoped that they would not be needed as a last defence.

**XXX**

So it was that the last remaining members of the Company spurred their horses and joined the army of Gondor as it departed the City. The host moved swiftly despite its size. What it was which drove them on in such a fashion Legolas could not tell. Around half of the army was mounted whilst the remainder went on foot. The morning sun glinted upon spear and helm and sword alike as the host passed down the great road to the Causeway.

Ere noon they came to Osgiliath. The ruined walls and towers of the city bore the marks of fierce fighting. A small garrison of men was busy strengthening the abandoned ferries and boat-bridges, gathering stores and building hasty works of defence. The host halted for a time to gather news of the stricken outpost. It seemed that the Enemy had abandoned their siege of the city during the night, much to the amazement of the men who defended it. This news did not bring Faramir much comfort.

"It is but a feint," he said. "This was no victory. The Enemy is amassing its forces elsewhere."

"Let them flee!" said Denethor. "They shall find no refuge from the might of Gondor."

The host passed now through the ruins of Old Gondor, using the devices of the Enemy to cross over the River beyond and start up the long road which led to the Crossroads. Five miles march from Osgiliath they halted for the day. The horsemen pressed on to reach the Crossroads ere evening descended.

Beside a stony grey bank the road wound about the outer slopes of the mountains before it plunged into a dark belt of trees. Their distant tops were gaunt and broken, as if they had been struck by a recent lightning-blast. Legolas marveled at the ancient trees as they towered high and opened in a roofless ring out onto the gloomy sky. Four roads diverged here in the shadow of the Ephel Dúath.

The horses whinnied or shied in unease as they emerged into the clearing. Legolas leant down and patted Arod reassuringly upon the neck, murmuring soft words of elvish. In the very centre where the four ways met there rose a huge stone figure sat still and solemn in a mighty chair. The head was gone and in its place a rough-hewn stone had been placed. Upon it was painted a grinning face with a large red eye in the midst of its forehead.

The sinking sun cast a brief glow upon that great stone king. Before the light had wholly faded Denethor ordered the orc-head be cast down and the old king's head raised in its place where it had fallen by the roadside. Men laboured to clean the foul scrawlings that the servants of Mordor had left upon the stone as black night fell.

When the rest of the host joined them at dawn they continued their long march along that northward road. Denethor sent scouts ahead and let the trumpets blow at times to signal their coming. No sign of the enemy did they see. The hearts of men were downcast as the days and their journey slowly wore away. None save Legolas saw that the Nazgûl flew abroad high and out of sight; and yet the men felt a dread presence which could not be shaken as they advanced into the gloom of Mordor.

**XXX**

On the third day the host came at last to the barren outlands around the Pass of Cirith Gorgor. Before them the distant marshes and desert stretched towards the jagged teeth of the Emyn Muil to the north and west. They walked like men in a hideous dream made true in those dark and desolate places. It was only their love for the Steward and his sons which held them firm to their road. They advanced slowly and drew together as one, forsaking the need for scouts as they approached the land of Mordor. Still there came no answer to their challenge.

At nightfall they made their camp in this empty landscape. Fires were built using such dead wood and heath as they could find. The world grew dark about them as they listened to the howling of wolves and the comings and goings of unseen things prowling in the wild. Little could be seen beyond the fires set about the camp. The night was alive with watchfulness.

A soup was passed around to the hungry men. The Company sat together at a smaller fire eating their own provisions. Their _lembas_ had proven its worth over their long journey and kept well. None voiced the thought that there might not be a return journey for which to save it.

After they had eaten Legolas sat alone before their small fire, applying wax to his bow string. Gimli had left to fetch some more wood. The hobbits were asleep. Legolas paused and drew his elven cloak over the two when he noticed their shivering. As he returned to his work he saw a dark squat thing, perhaps a wolf, approach the ring of firelight. Upon seeing the multitude of soldiers bristling with weapons it quickly retreated back into the night.

After a time Legolas became aware that someone was watching him. He glanced up to see Boromir looking out across the crowd of soldiers. The firelight played across his weary face. Legolas thought for a moment that he might come over to speak with them. He seemed deep in thought.

Shortly a soldier called Boromir's name and asked for a toast. The moment passed. Boromir turned away and returned to his men. A cold wind picked up and stirred the flames of their small campfire as Gimli returned with some dead wood.

"Do you believe in his innocence?" he said to Legolas as he sat down again.

They both watched as Boromir gave his toast. The horror that had once lain deep upon the men seemed to lift at his stirring words of victory. He raised his goblet of ale to the strength and glory of Gondor. Men clashed their weapons and their voices rang out in cheer. Faramir stood watching all. His expression could not be seen.

"I do," Legolas said after a moment. "But it matters not. Boromir has made his choice. I fear it may be too late to change his fate in this matter."

Men drank deep in answer to this toast. Faramir took the chance to weave his way through the gathering and speak words to Boromir that neither Legolas nor Gimli could hear. This exchange provoked laughter in both. They watched as the brothers embraced warmly as those who have not seen each other in many a day. It was not long before they joined the men in celebration of a victory not yet won.

"It may be too late for all of us," said Gimli, throwing another faggot of wood onto the fire.

**XXX**

The next day dawned grey and forbidding. Shrouded in the mists of Mordor the host made ready and set out again. Men spoke little. The cheer of the night had wholly gone. To the north they passed the great hills of rock and slag vomited forth by the maggot-folk of Mordor; to the south rose the rampart of Cirith Gorgor and the Black Gate amidmost, guarded by the two Towers of the Teeth upon either side.

The host as it travelled turned from the road as it bent away to the east, and so they approached the Morannon from the north-west and avoided the peril of the lurking hills. The frowning arch of the Black Gate loomed before them, its two vast iron doors fast closed beneath the silent battlements. The sight gave men pause as they stood forlorn and chill in the shadow of that dreaded pass. They knew that the hills and rocks of the Morannon were filled with hidden foes.

Soon they came within cry of the Morannon. The heralds stood out and unfurled their banner and let blow the trumpets in challenge over the battlement of Mordor.

"Come forth!" they cried. "Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! The Steward of Gondor demands justice against the destroyer of his people. Come forth!"

Denethor rode to the Gate with his sons close behind. Legolas went with them. It was Faramir who had bidden his father let the elf and his dwarven companion ride out as witness so that all of the enemies of Mordor might be represented. Only at Boromir's insistence had this request been granted. Neither of the hobbits was extended the same honour. Thus Gimli had stayed behind with the rest of the host. Merry and Pippin stood with him beside their horses, their cloaks bundled close. They looked with fear upon the dark towers and walls looming ahead.

At first there sounded no answer. Then the braying horns rose and drums rolled. The door of the Black Gate was opened with a great clang. Out of the land of Mordor came an embassy from the Dark Tower. At its head rode a tall and evil shape mounted upon a black horse. This was the Mouth of Sauron, and if he had once possessed a name than he had himself long forgotten it. He was robed all in black and black was his lofty helm. His face could not be seen.

The rider came forward with a small company dressed in black, and they bore with them a black banner bearing in red the Evil Eye. The host halted a few paces from the Captains of Gondor.

"I am the Mouth of Sauron," the rider said. "Is there anyone in this rout with authority to treat with me?"

"I did not come to parley with a mere beggar," said Denethor. "Let your Lord come forth, if he dares! He shall answer to Gondor for his crimes."

But the Messenger of Sauron merely answered: "Nay. Do not think the Dark Lord a fool! I have tokens that I was bidden to show to thee - to thee in especial, if thou shouldst dare to stand here in defiance." He gestured and one of his guards came forward bearing a small bundle swaddled in black cloths.

The Messenger took this bundle and cast aside its coverings. Pippin strained to see what was happening. There to the wonder and dismay of the host the Messenger held up first a grey cloak and then a white pendant like a star which hung upon a silver chain. It glinted as it caught the sun now climbing towards the South, gleaming a sullen red as it hung veiled in the reeks of Mordor. A small gasp escaped Pippin at the sight.

"These belonged to Aragorn," Boromir said. His face was grey with horror.

"I see that you recognize these tokens!" the Messenger said. "It would be vain for you to deny them now. A piece of elvish glass, an elf-cloak – and that is not all. But it was no elf that bore these tokens. A man he was, tall and proud, though there was an elvish look about him which perhaps he hoped to disguise."

Merry and Gimli said naught. They seemed unable to speak. Legolas leapt forward with a cry of grief.

"Enough!" cried Denethor. His eyes flashed dangerously in the elf's direction. Faramir put out a hand to keep Legolas back. "Word has reached my ears of this Aragorn, son of Arathorn," Denethor said. He looked first at Boromir and then back at the Messenger of Mordor, betraying naught in his expression. "I had hoped them to be mistaken."

"He led our Company," said Legolas. His voice was steady, but those nearby saw the anguish in his face. "He journeyed with us as far as the Argonath."

"He was your leader?" said Faramir in astonishment.

"For a time," Boromir said. "But he disappeared in the night and did not return to us. We knew not his fate."

The Messenger observed this exchange and he laughed, for it seemed to him that his sport went well.

"Good, good!" he said. "He was dear to you, I see. And now he shall endure the slow torment of years, as long and slow as our arts in the Great Tower can contrive, and never be released, unless maybe when he is changed and broken, so that he may fall to his knees and swear fealty to the Dark Lord before the masses."

"You say then that he still lives?" said Legolas. Hope leapt within his heart.

"Lesser men have broken within hours," said the Messenger. "But do not be troubled. A simple exchange will suffice to put an end to his torment, and what his fate shall be depends now on your choice. We ask only for a small trinket, a ring, in exchange for this prisoner."

A blackness came upon the host at these words, and it seemed to them in a moment of silence that the world stood still. But Denethor saw the horror in their eyes and guessed their thoughts, and growing angry he drew his sword.

"This is madness!" he cried. "What honour is to be left in that line? I will not bow to this ranger from the north, last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship!"

"Not entirely bereft," said Faramir, and he took the Messenger's eye and held it. "But this is much to demand for the delivery of one servant: that your Master should receive in exchange what he must else fight many a war to gain! And what surety have we that your Master will keep his part? Where is this prisoner? Let him be brought forth and yielded to us, and then we will consider these demands."

"Do not bandy words in your insolence!" cried the Messenger. "Surety you crave! Sauron gives none. The prisoner shall remain in Barad-dûr until his bidding is done. You may give this ring to me or you may walk into Mordor and deliver it to Sauron the Great himself. Then he shall consider releasing his prisoner. These are his terms. Take them or leave them!"

"These terms are an insult," said Boromir. He cast aside his cloak and drew his own sword. "We did not come here to waste words in treating with Sauron. I would advise you to stand down now, lest my blade meet your throat."

The other quailed and gave back. "I am a herald and ambassador, and may not be assailed!" he cried.

"Then I advise you to find the safety of the Gate, herald," said Boromir. "I shall respect the rules of diplomacy, but my companions may not be so obliging. As for your terms, we reject them utterly. Your embassy is over and death is near to you and your Master. Now begone!"

And the Mouth of Sauron looked upon the fell face and deadly eyes of Boromir, and back to the host of Gondor. Fear soon overcame his wrath. He dropped the bundle and then turned and with his company galloped madly back to Cirith Gorgor.


	13. The Black Gate Opens

_I've finally finished Book Two, yay! :D I'm really sorry for the huge delay in posting this update – it should be obvious when you read this chapter why it took me so long to complete. There were lots of important plot developments to cover in this, not to mention the basic logistics of all the fighting and as a result it's probably the longest chapter I've written yet. Some dialogue and snippets of description will be familiar from the books as well as the movies but as always I've tried to incorporate these naturally into events._

_This is the first major battle in this story, but by no means the last one! I absolutely love planning and writing battle scenes and there will be plenty more to come. I'm afraid things are going to continue getting darker and darker. I've really only just scratched the surface so far •evil laugh• The action will also make a very overdue return to a familiar character in the next chapter, so the wait will soon be over folks…_

**********XXX**

Even as the Mouth of Sauron fled his soldiers blew upon horns in signal long arranged. The sound of drums echoed again and fires leapt up from the battlements. There was a dull rumbling as the doors of the Black Gate opened wide, and as if a sluice had suddenly been lifted a great host issued out of that land like a raging deluge of floodwater.

The Lords of Gondor mounted again and rode back to their waiting men. Little time was left for the ordering of battle as black orcs streamed down from the hills of the Morannon. The trumpets sang as the sons of the Steward took their place at the front of the cavalry where the first bitter assault would surely come, and the Lord Denethor rode along the ranks with his sword held high.

"The weapon of the Enemy is in our grasp!" he cried over the growing tumult. "It is a gift to the foes of Mordor. None can stand against its power. Think now of the glory of Gondor and its strength of old. Do not burden yourselves with doubt or despair. Victory is within our grasp. We have now only to reach out and take it!"

And Boromir lifted the Great Horn that he bore to his lips, and on it he sounded a series of blasts which smote the hills and echoed in the hollows, rising in a mighty shout above the roar of the oncoming host. All that heard those horn-calls felt their hearts stir with the heat of battle, and men took up the cry in that desolate land: "For Gondor!"

Legolas had bowed crushed with horror when he heard Boromir reject the terms and doom Aragorn to the torment of the Tower; but he had mastered himself. Swiftly the Company mounted their horses and drew together. Legolas had taken the bundle with Aragorn's things and attached it to his horse's saddle. Now he readied an arrow upon his bow. Gimli took up his axe. Both Merry and Pippin drew their swords, looking thunderstruck at the prospect of doing battle.

"Stay close," Legolas cried over the desperate blowing of the horn. "We might die, but if die we must then we shall do it together. The Ring cannot fall into the hands of the Enemy. The fate of all free lands depends upon it."

The sun was utterly lost. Arrows whined and the winds blew in the gathering murk as the enemy came charging into the fray. The archers of Gondor loosed a volley of arrows in answer. Legolas loosed his own bow in unison. Yet for every black creature which fell to this onslaught a dozen others simply took its place.

The advance had barely been halted as the Lords of Gondor yelled desperately for swords. Some had hardly the chance to defend themselves as the first assault crashed into them. Like a storm their enemies broke upon the host of Gondor, shrieking and roaring as they came.

The Company soon found themselves fighting on all sides, an ever-shrinking island in the middle of that rolling flood. Pippin held on tight to Legolas, fearing he may fall and be cut down by orcs as the elf now wielded a blade with great skill. One particularly large creature leapt forward and Merry slew it as he and Gimli's horse charged onwards.

As the battle raged fiercely there rose from beyond the Towers of the Teeth a hideous shape. Other shapes appeared and gathered about it like a pack of vultures. And as they came a great fear fell over all. In that moment all hope was quenched.

The Nazgûl had come.

******XXX**

They came first for the riders with their cold voices crying words of death. Fell wings beat the air as the horses turned wild with fright. In the chaos Merry was thrown from his horse, and the others were borne far away and had not the chance to reach him. It was all Legolas could do to bring his own unruly steed under control.

The battle soon turned into a rout. Men descended into madness, flying witless here and there or else crying out in fear and falling to the ground. The horses reared and screamed. Somehow Legolas managed to notch an arrow to his bow. It sang in the darkness and drove away a Nazgûl which attempted to snatch up a rider. Pippin stayed close to the elf and stabbed fearfully at anything that came too close.

Beside him Gimli swung his axe and felled a heavily-armoured foe. As he recovered from this blow another black creature swung its sword at his head, and Gimli was barely saved as the creature fell dead with a knife in its throat. The dwarf turned and saw that it was Boromir who had delivered this fatal blow. The two exchanged a glance across the field of battle before Boromir was swept away by the tumult and did not see them again.

Denethor alone endured the madness which had seized his men. Now he waited upon the edge of the battlefield, his blade gleaming with the blood of many foes; and still he refused to put on the Ring.

"Sauron!" he cried, turning his face up to the battlements above. "Sauron, coward of Mordor! Come out and face the might of Gondor!"

Boromir returned to his side, and he battled his horse even as he cried over the din of battle: "My lord, he shall come in time. Stand with us now and fight. There are too many to fight by blade alone. Wield the weapon of the Enemy against his servants!" His eyes shone with the rage of battle. "Crush your enemies. Wield the Ring as I would have you do!"

"Nay," Denethor said sternly. "Let the Lord Sauron come, if he has the courage to face me! I shall not waste myself on lesser foes."

And so the Steward held his position as his sons led the charge against their enemy. But the Dark Lord did not come. The sky above grew black with arrows. Out of the Gate poured innumerable orcs, trapping the host in jaws of steel, and still the Dark Lord did not come.

A sea of foes soon separated the Company from their allies. The horses they had abandoned in favour of standing together. Pippin wielded the small sword he had been given by Aragorn, and Legolas' hands were but a blur as he loosed arrow after arrow at their foes; Gimli cut down any who dared to approach with a swing of his axe. Only Merry was nowhere to be seen.

"Heed not!" cried Faramir, as men stopped and turned their faces cowering to the skies. "Slay! Heed not their calls!"

But suddenly out of the gloom there swept a great shadow. The Nazgûl scattered in its wake like sparks in a gale, winging across the battlefield with a chorus of screeches.

Their Captain had come to challenge his foe.

******XXX**

And now Faramir battled his horse as it reared in terror. The shadow beat its hideous wings and then swooped down like a bolt and fell from the dim sky. Faramir was knocked from his horse and smote to the ground, and his steed bolted with fright and sped away northwards.

"Faramir! Faramir!" men cried. But he did not rise again. Even as the charge faltered the Nazgûl intent on its prey descended upon the stricken field. Denethor rode up in haste to meet this new foe, looking down upon his son lying still and deathlike as his men fled about him.

"My son!" he cried. "I loved thee more than you knew." And he turned to the host of Morgul as rage was kindled in his heart. "Go back!" he said. "Go back! You shall find no victory here."

Deadly laughter came from a mouth unseen. The Black Rider cast back his dark hood to reveal a kingly crown between mantled shoulders, yet upon no visible head was it set. For this was the Lord of the Nazgûl, who had led the attack upon Weathertop, and even the servants of Sauron fled at his coming.

"Old fool!" he cried. "The hour of Death draws nigh. Do you not know it? Die now! This is my hour."

The Black Rider lifted his sword high. Flames sprang forth along the length of its blade. Yet Denethor stood firm at this show of strength.

"It is over!" he said. "Flee back to your master as he cowers in his hovel! Deliver to him this message: 'Death shall come to you and your servants on swift wings, Sauron, Master of the Earth. For behold! No longer are you the Lord of the Ring!'"

And in that moment Denethor held up the Ring for all to see. Then he slipped it from its chain and placed it upon his finger. Immediately the world before him became dim and dark. Where before there had been naught but a shining crown Denethor spied keen eyes burning in a pale face and grey hair falling across mantled shoulders. And so Denethor, Lord and Steward of Gondor, glimpsed in that moment the Lord of the Nazgûl in his true form beneath his black trappings.

The Black Rider gave a chill cry and rose towering from his steed, drawn to the power of the Ring. Denethor mastered his fear as he leapt from his own horse in order to do battle with that terrible foe, and he struck blow after blow until the very end of his strength. But it was not his fate to defeat this enemy, for it had been prophesied long ago that the Black Captain would not fall by the hand of man, and shortly his enemy raised his flaming sword and smote Denethor to the ground with a cruel blow.

It seemed all was lost. Denethor felt the Ring slip from his finger even as he began to swoon. Above him the winged beast gave a venomous shriek as his enemy bore upon him with malice. Yet he was not completely forsaken.

The horn of Gondor sounded desperately in the midst of battle, and suddenly the Lord Boromir leapt into the fray to defend his father. There was a terrible clash as he met his enemy's sword, and its flame extinguished as he drove his opponent backwards with the strength of one who battles for the life of another.

Fiercely Boromir fought despite the terror of that gaze, leaping forward to hew at his enemy with all his might. But he was no match for this servant of Sauron, and he cried aloud as the Black Rider thrust its dreadful blade into his side.

His enemy hissed in triumph as Boromir stumbled to his knees. But if that had been the man's ending then he did not know it. He struggled valiantly to his feet once again and lifted his sword, matching his enemy blow for blow until he was brought to his knees by a second blow which shivered his armour of mail at the neck and thrust into his shoulder.

This time Boromir appeared defeated, his breathing short and laboured as he remained upon his knees. Satisfied his enemy lowered his sword and turned away to leave, but as Boromir looked up his eyes fell upon his stricken father.

With a bitter cry he struggled to his feet and took up his sword; his enemy turned in surprise. Again Boromir stabbed his blade upwards and sheared the cloth of his enemy's mantle, but as it struck a glancing blow against that black hauberk it notched above the hilt and fell ringing from his shaken hands, for all blades perished which pierced that dreadful King.

Thus weaponless Boromir stumbled backwards, and he cried out as a blade pierced deep into his chest and bore him backwards, throwing him to the ground. This time he did not get up again.

Now the Black Rider wrenched his sword free and left his dying opponent to go after his former prey, and Boromir watched helplessly as the Ring was taken from his father, who was mortally wounded from a blow to the face and had not the strength to resist. And it seemed to Boromir in that moment that the sun was dimmed wholly from the sky. His enemy turned towards him then, and he hardly dared to move as those deadly eyes fell upon him; but the Black Captain, so intent in his purpose, heeded him no more than a worm in the mud.

Boromir crawled aside as the great beast above him beat its hideous wings. To the air the Black Rider now returned, summoning his steed to visit the Dark Lord with his prize. Darkness was already settling upon his mind as Boromir reached his fallen father, and he looked on him and saw that he lay still and did not move. Then Boromir stooped and lifted his father's hand to kiss it.

"Forgive me, lord," he said. "I did not see it. I have failed you all. Against the Power that now arises there is no victory."

But lo! even as he spoke Denethor opened his eyes, and they were clear, and he spoke in a quiet voice though laboured.

"Nay," he said, for the loss of the Ring had broken the spell of madness upon him. "Few have fought so bravely. I was a fool to try and wield this darkness. Your brother warned me of this folly. I did not listen. I sent you both forth, unthanked, unblessed, out into needless peril. Now I think that he is dead."

At this news Boromir looked with grief on the face of his father. And for a moment he was silent and still, watching the Lord in his throes and giving no heed to the battle as he wept.

"Then it is over," he said quietly. "The world of men will fall, and all will come to darkness and our city to ruin. Our people shall fail."

Denethor paused and his eyes closed wearily. After a moment he spoke again.

"Soon all shall be ended," answered Denethor. "But I would have things as they were in all the days of my life, and in the days of my longfathers before me: to be the Lord of my City in peace, and leave my chair to a son after me, who would be his own master."

"You remain your own master," said Boromir, "and here I shall stay in what little time is left to me and remain my own still."

"Alas," said Denethor, "that Doom is near at hand."

Boromir nodded then in understanding.

"For Isildur's bane shall waken," he said.

And afterwards Denethor spoke no more. Boromir knelt for a while, bent with weeping, still clasping tightly his father's hand. Then he stooped and kissed his lord upon the brow. There it was he laid down his head and stayed with his father until his own passing, which came swiftly and forgotten in the rage of battle about them. And so it was that the Steward and his son departed from this life, never to return to the White City in all the ages of this world.

******XXX**

The horn of Gondor had long seized blowing as Faramir awoke from a swoon, greeted by the screams of dying men and the thunder of horses. Although hurt he managed to rise now to his feet. He knew not whether the battle went good or ill.

"My lord!" he called in a clear voice. "My lord, has the darkness passed? Do we have victory?"

Shortly afterwards he found the Steward's horse whinnying in distress. It had lost its rider. The still form of his father lay nearby. There he came upon Boromir also, pierced with many wounds and his horn cloven in two at his side; and he saw then that they were both dead.

Faramir sank to the ground and wept, unheeding of the battle still raging about him. And so blackness descended upon the armies of Gondor. Many were hewn down by foul creatures or by the Nazgûl as they descended screaming from the skies. Soon all came to despair as their last hope left them. The cry of retreat arose above the din of battle.

Those with the strength to do so fled as the tide turned against them. Orcs continued to pour from the Morannon in innumerable number. So it was that only Pippin remained in the vanguard, stumbled blindly through the ash and choking dust. He had lost the others long ago.

"Merry!" he cried. "Legolas, Gimli, where are you? Are you here?"

His cries soon attracted unwanted attention, and Pippin was oblivious as a huge orc loomed behind him. And that would have been the end of him if not for Faramir. Out of the gloom he came with his sword gleaming brightly, leaping forward and hewing down the orc where it stood. It fell dead with a hideous shriek. Pippin jumped back in fright.

"Flee," said Faramir. His grey face was marked with tears. "The shadow is too strong. You shall find only death here."

"But my friends are out there!" cried Pippin. "I will not abandon them while there is still hope!"

"Do you not see?" Faramir said gravely. "Hope has failed us."

Here and there the ringing clash of weapons still sounded as the army of Gondor fled. Pippin ignored the calls for retreat. He turned and cast about desperately instead, straining to catch sight of his friends. The dust here was so thick that Pippin thought he must be standing on an island in the midst of a great fog.

"Come," said Faramir. "We must get to safety. The darkness has come."

Pippin felt his heart hammering with terror. He looked up into Faramir's stern face and then turned back and gazed into the murk of battle. He stood rigid with indecision as he listened to the shrieking of approaching orcs, and thought briefly of following Faramir when he caught a glimpse of a squat figure running through the gloom.

"Merry!"

Pippin almost stumbled over his own feet as he raced towards the hobbit in the distance. The next moment a deafening roar rent the air. Pippin came lurching to a halt as a huge troll loomed suddenly out of the murk. It thundered towards them both, clutching a massive club in its stony grey fist.

Pippin cowered at the creature's fury, but Faramir rushed forward to hew at the creature's back with his sword. Its hide was so tough that the blade was buried deep in its back. It bellowed in pain, enraged at this blow, and as the troll swiftly turned Faramir fell as he stumbled backwards. The great troll-chief loomed over him then, meaning to snatch him up with a claw and bite the throat of his prey.

In Pippin's heart was swelled a sudden courage. He drew his elven knife and with a cry of "For the Shire!" sprang forwards and stabbed upwards through the belly of that towering creature. Black blood gushed forth as his blade pierced deep into the troll's vitals. It gave a great roar of pain and swung its club at Pippin, striking him to the ground with a glancing blow. It then came crashing down like a falling rock.

Pippin had only been saved by the silver helm lent to him by Bergil. It was now notched by the force of the troll's club. A breathless Faramir bent down and offered his hand to the hobbit, but Pippin refused it as he scrambled back to his feet.

"Are you hurt?" said Faramir.

"Not badly," said Pippin. He felt a wave of dizziness strike him but still kept his feet. "I must find my friends. I cannot leave without them."

"This is your wish?" said Faramir.

Pippin nodded.

"I am only small - I can pick my way along from here. You must help your men. Cover their retreat. I would not have you waste your strength defending a mere hobbit."

Faramir looked upon Pippin in amazement then.

"I owe you my life," he said. "Much as you have owed me yours this day. I shall not keep you from your task." He paused to wrench his sword from the dead troll's back. "You have a stout heart, Peregrin Took. But take care that it does not lead you astray. Stay alert!"

Pippin watched Faramir turn and disappear into the gloom. Then he took a deep breath and continued on in the direction he had last seen a hobbit racing. He squinted as he went, his elven knife ready in his hand and his head throbbing fiercely beneath his notched helm.

"Merry!" he cried.

Shortly Pippin tripped upon some unseen thing. He stumbled with a cry, his knife clattering to the ground. Another wave of dizziness struck him as he landed hard upon his side. Vainly he grasped for his knife again as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees. It was then that something caught his eye upon the ground to his right. It was glinting brightly in that dark place.

Pippin's eyes widened in surprise. He reached out and picked up that gleaming thing, and saw that it was an elven brooch which had been torn from a cloak and trodden underfoot. Pippin turned it over in his trembling hands.

It was not far away that he found Merry. The hobbit was pale and still. At some point during the battle he had lost his helmet; he now bore a nasty wound upon his brow. Beneath him lay the broken hilt of his sword.

Pippin raced across the battlefield and tears dashed at his eyes, for Merry looked close to death. And it was then that all hope seemed to fail him at last. He took Merry in his arms and pulled him close before the approaching shadow.

"So it ends as I feared it might," Pippin's thought said, even as it winged away into forgetfulness. "Is this what Frodo felt? At least we shall be together when we die. But poor Aragorn! Now he is doomed to a fate worse still. And Sam shall be stuck in that prison all alone. How I wish I could see the green grass of the Shire again!"

And so he closed his eyes and awaited the world's end. But it seemed to him that faint shouts arose which no longer called for retreat.

A light shone brightly in the darkness. Pippin turned his gaze upwards. At that moment he caught a flash of white and silver like a small star in that empty land. It moved with the speed of an arrow and grew as it came swiftly upon the winds. It seemed to Pippin that a pale light was spread about it and the heavy shadows gave way before it; and then as it drew near he thought that he heard a great voice calling.

"Gandalf!" he thought. "Gandalf! He always turns up when things are darkest. But I must be dreaming things. Perhaps I shall see him again soon. Now I fear my tale must end. Goodbye!"

And this last thought fled far away as he closed his eyes and saw no more.


	14. The Grace of the Valar

_There's quite an interesting story behind the origins of this fic which all started with this chapter. Back when I first saw The Two Towers in the cinema I had not yet read the book, so when Aragorn fell off that cliff during the fight with the Wargs and got washed up on the shore I was convinced that he was going to be found by someone unfriendly. Seriously, that shot as the horse first comes into frame? I was convinced that it was an orc for a split second. I duly noted down the plot bunny and later wrote an early draft of the battle near Rauros-falls to explain how Aragorn came to be where he was. I had no idea where the story would go from there, and for years it remained yet another idea in my notebook, but then a few years on I had a nagging 'What if?' in my mind and finally went back to my old notes._

_All credit goes to Tolkien for Arwen's dialogue and any recognizable lines. Thank you for all of the reviews asking after this - it might take me a while to update but I get there eventually. This chapter ended up getting very long so hopefully it was worth the (**extremely** long) wait! _

******XXX**

It was the evening of Midsummer. A sweet fragrance was upon the air as Aragorn walked slowly beneath the fading trees of Lothlórien. He went unshod and clad in elven-mail to the hill of Cerin Amroth. There waiting for him was his beloved.

A fair light shone about her, and it was as if Lúthien herself had come again from the songs of Elder Days. Dark hair fell upon pale shoulders, and she wore a mantle of silver and blue; about her brows was bound a wreath of gems like stars. She smiled as Aragorn approached her. There upon the hill of Cerin Amroth he took her in his arms and they kissed upon the undying grass.

Far above a Shadow dwelt in the east. At first naught but a distant cloud, it slowly grew and blended with the Twilight in the west. Soon it threatened to cover the fair glades of Lothlórien. The _elanor _and _niphredil_ about their feet grew dim and seemed to wither.

Arwen's face was grave as she beheld the darkness. Yet even as the elven-light in her eyes was dimmed she pulled away from Aragorn and touched a hand tenderly to his face. "Dark is the Shadow," she said, "and yet my heart rejoices; for you, Estel, shall be among the great whose valour will destroy it."

And then it seemed that the Twilight suddenly broke, and darkness fell upon the land of Lórien. A series of fell shrieks rent the air. The sound struck terror into Aragorn's heart. He turned and caught sight of winged shadows descending from the skies.

The Enemy had found him.

******XXX**

Aragorn awoke. He was lying on his back on the cold ground. He was not in Lothlórien. He did not know where he was.

Above him the sky had grown dim. Cold air was blowing on his face. He did not know how long he remained lying still upon his back, listening to the rhythm of nightly noises. His head ached fiercely. He could still hear Arwen's voice echoing in his thoughts. He shut his eyes again and tried to separate his memory from dream-shadows.

He remembered a great battle and the smell of wood smoke. Why had he been fighting all by himself? Where were the others? He had run a long way through the forest as orcs yelled and crashed through the trees behind him; and then just as suddenly he had found himself alone. He was standing at the very edge of Rauros-falls. But he had been unable to escape his pursuers: they soon came at him from all sides, but rather than slay him they had tried only to lay hold of him. His last memory was of a ringing clash of weapons, and then the great foam and rushing waters closing in on him from every side as he had leapt from the cliff's edge. Darkness had followed.

"But whereabouts am I now?" he thought to himself. "And how did I come to be here, wherever here may be? Why is it that I am still alive?"

He felt cold and sick, so rather than attempt to move his aching head he simply remained still and listened intently to the world about him. He could hear a great rushing of water not far away. He must be near a river or some other watercourse. The faint sound of a crackling fire carried upon the breeze. Slowly he became aware of many voices round about speaking in an abominable tongue. By instinct he turned and looked for his sword. It was not there. He attempted to move and found that he could not. His hands were bound behind him with cruel cords, as were his legs and ankles.

His eyes flew open.

"Of course," Aragorn thought. "There were dozens of orcs attempting to seize me. But I eluded them, did I not?"

His question was soon answered as he felt the cold touch of a blade at his throat. Someone must have become aware of his waking.

"So, you are finally awake?" said a voice. The dark face of an orc loomed over him and gave a sneer, revealing a set of fangs. He had a black knife with a long jagged blade in his hand. "Perhaps now we won't have to lug you every step of the way! You gave us quite a merry chase back there, but the River did not claim you as we had first thought."

His guard seized him by his bound arms and hauled Aragorn roughly onto his knees. His head was still aching fiercely as he attempted to stay upright. He struggled a little, quite uselessly. For the first time he saw the great host of orcs sat or stood about him.

"Ha! Look here lads!" his guard cried. "The filthy _tark _has woken up! I told you he wasn't dead!"

A chorus of cries met these words; some of the orcs clashed their weapons against their chests in jubilation. Aragorn measured their numbers with unease. There were many more than he remembered gathered here; and yet he knew that he had slain a large number of their company upon Amon Lhaw. There was certainly no chance of his escaping such a host unseen.

The others gave way as a large black orc approached and bent down before their prisoner. He wore a broad-bladed sword at his side and a satisfied smirk. It was all that Aragorn could do to keep his anger restrained as the orc captain seized him about the chin with a gloved hand.

"So you are alive then?" the orc growled as he studied him, turning Aragorn's face this way and that. Dried blood plastered the ranger's nose and mouth, and his face was very pale. His shirt was torn at the shoulder where it had been cut by a blade earlier. "I guess you are made of hardier stuff than most. A shame for my lads; they were looking forward to feasting on man-flesh for a change. All they have eaten lately is slimy fish and stale bread."

The orc released his grip. Aragorn glared at him heatedly. If his hands were free he would never have allowed himself to suffer such a terrible touch, but he was bound fast and could barely move. The orc captain stood up again and gestured towards Aragorn's guard.

"Bind his arms as well!" he ordered. "I do not want the _tark _escaping twice. We are to bring him back alive and unspoiled. We've already wasted enough time here. We will rest another hour and then go on again. He still looks dead upon his feet to me."

And the orc captain turned away and returned to the nearby campfire to bark orders at the others. It was clear they had chosen a new leader after Aragorn had slain Lurtz upon Amon Lhaw, or perhaps this new leader had appointed himself: there was much angry grumbling amongst the company at his words. Aragorn's guard muttered and snarled to himself as he took up another piece of rope and tied it about the ranger's arms. He soon passed into a long angry speech in his own tongue as he pulled the knots so tightly that Aragorn was forced to bite back a cry. Obviously they were not prepared to take any chances.

As the orcs got ready to march again Aragorn watched them intently, looking pale but grim and defiant. His head still ached and he was reminded of the pain in his shoulder by the cruel cords biting into his arms. It was not long before his guard moved away and settled down nearby, knife in hand.

For the first time since he had awoken Aragorn was left alone with his own thoughts. From their speech it did not sound as though these orcs had come across the rest of the Company. At least his plan seemed to have worked. He hoped that the others were safely away from this place and on their way towards Mordor.

But how had he survived such a fall? As he leapt from the edge of Rauros he had resigned himself to death; now he found himself very much alive and facing a fate worse still. He remembered the dark and troubled dream which had preceded his waking. Arwen's words still echoed in his memory.

Aragorn knew that the grace of the Valar had protected him from death on this occasion, but as he knelt there, bound hand and foot and surrounded by orcs, he could not foresee the reason why.

**XXX**

Aragorn quickly learnt what had happened the next morning as he listened to the snatched conversation of those around him.

It seemed that after he had plunged from the edge of Rauros-falls the orcs he had been fighting instead began to turn upon each other. Those from Moria had been very angry, for they had traveled many leagues to avenge their kin. The larger orcs had slain most before the others were cowed. Those still remaining quickly chose a new captain, a large black orc named Uglúk. He had led the company through the eastern Emyn Muil and down to the banks of the Anduin. These orcs knew they could not return to their master without a prize, regardless of whether that prize was alive or dead.

They had not been searching long before they came by chance upon Aragorn. He had been washed up upon the river bank and seemed at first glance to be dead. Uglúk soon noticed that he was still breathing and ordered him to be bound fast and his weapons to be taken away. Uglúk still wore Andúril in its sheath at his belt, and Aragorn vowed to himself that he would slay the foul creature at any cost in order to reclaim it.

His pack and its contents were long gone. Doubtless it had been lost in the wash of the river. He had no idea what had become of his elven knife. The gash in his shoulder had been treated swiftly in orc-fashion and gave him little trouble, and yet Aragorn often stumbled as he marched. When he did so cruel hands were always at the ready to haul him back to his feet and drive him onwards. At other times when they stopped to rest Uglúk thrust a flask between his teeth and poured some burning liquid down his throat: he felt a hot fierce glow flow through him. The pain vanished for a time and they soon went on again.

Amongst this company were also orcs under the command of Mordor. A short crook-legged creature called Grishnákh fancied himself as a trusted messenger of the Great Eye. He argued that they should take Aragorn at once to Lugbúrz. Though orc-speech sounded at all times full of hate and anger, it seemed plain that something like a quarrel began at these words. Some of Grishnákh's followers drew their swords. Three fell with cloven head before Uglúk managed to restore order. Grishnákh simply stepped aside and vanished into the shadows. No doubt he thought it best to bide his time instead.

Sunlight did not stop their endless advance. Aragorn reckoned the number of days that passed only by the rising and setting of the sun, as evil dreams overtook him in the blinding day as well as the darkness of another night. Yet as they journeyed on Aragorn soon found himself in familiar country. He had traveled through this region many times during his time amongst the Rohirrim and recognized the swell of the land even as it lay shrouded in darkness.

They were following the course of the Entwash.

He guessed that the orcs must have been very anxious to opt for this route rather than marching straight across the plains of Rohan. Their journey would take much longer following the meandering route of this river, but it would stop them from being left vulnerable to attack by the Rohirrim out on the windswept plains. Obviously Uglúk did not fancy their chances in open country. They had nearly lost their prisoner once and they were not prepared to risk him again.

On the second day heavy clouds above threatened rain. As evening began to descend it became dark very quickly. Unable to keep up the pace of his captors Aragorn stumbled and fell onto his knees; and as he did so the Evenstar on its chain was revealed about his neck. The white pendant glinted keenly in the moonlight as he was hauled back onto his feet. A shiver of excitement ran through the host at this sight. To Uglúk's annoyance their pace slowed and they soon came to a stop altogether.

"A piece of elvish glass!" said one, his eyes fixed upon the jewel hanging around Aragorn's neck. "Pilfered from some hidden stash of treasure I'll reckon. Why else would he have it?"

"It's some elvish weapon I've heard," said another. "That's why we were to catch him. It's wanted for the war."

"Why don't we find out?" said Grishnákh. There was a pale light gleaming in his eyes.

"Enough!" Uglúk growled. "We'll be having none of that! The prisoner is not to be searched or plundered. Those are my orders. I care not what you maggot-folk of Mordor have been told."

"There is no harm in taking a look," said Grishnákh. Cold fingers suddenly grasped at Aragorn's shirt, pawing at the pendant on its silver chain about his neck. "We shall find out his secrets soon enough."

Aragorn felt a flush of revulsion. Immediately he kicked out at Grishnákh and caused the orc to stumble backwards. As he did so one of the large Northerners drew his sword and rushed at him. Aragorn turned and caught the sword with his bound hands, using this momentum to drive the orc's blade into the belly of another. This second orc gave a shriek and fell down dead. Aragorn and his opponent were thrown onto the stony floor.

Aragorn heard the surprise and panic around him and quickly took advantage of it. He struck out at his opponent and then wrenched the sword free from the dead orc's belly. He rose unsteadily to his feet, the bloodied sword in his hands. He found himself surrounded on all sides; and yet it was clear that he was prepared for a fierce fight as the Evenstar hung from his neck for all to see.

"Enough!" shouted Uglúk.

But it was plain that anger had consumed them. The orcs from Mordor wished to avenge their slain kin and sprung at Aragorn from all sides. One matched him blow for blow before falling with a gaping hole in its belly. Yet another was brought down with a hard blow to its side. Aragorn fought them off as best he could with his borrowed sword but with his hands still bound it was a hopeless task.

As he turned to fend off another blow a large black orc struck out with his sword and caught him in the neck with a glancing blow. Aragorn cried out and stumbled onto his knees. Another came forward and struck a blow at his head. Aragorn swept up his own sword and caught this blow, but as he did so the force of it rang down the crude blade and into his injured shoulder. Aragorn gave back as the blade fell ringing from his hands. His opponent kicked him to the ground and he fell hard upon his back.

He could hear Uglúk yelling as the attacking orc lifted its blade and intended to drive it through him like a spear. That probably saved his life as Aragorn swiftly snatched up his own blade and thrust it deep into his opponent's neck. The orc gave a strangled cry and then fell to the ground and lay still. The weight of its corpse pulled the sword from his hands, and Aragorn collapsed again as the others converged upon him with their weapons at the ready.

"Stop!" Uglúk shouted. "That's enough. Put up your weapons now! We are to bring him back alive!"

The others reluctantly stepped aside as Uglúk came forward. Aragorn lay still upon his back next to this slain orc, his breathing difficult. About half a dozen bodies littered the ground around him. At least he had made them pay dearly. They would not attempt to touch the Evenstar again. The next moment he was roughly pulled onto his knees and held fast by two of the larger orcs under Uglúk's command.

"Throw the dead into the water," shouted Uglúk. "I do not want to leave a trail leading any of those filthy horse-boys right to us. There is to be no looting and no harm come to the prisoner, do you hear? Attempt to disobey those orders and you will soon find yourself relieved of your heads!"

As his orders were swiftly carried out Uglúk turned back and fixed Aragorn with a murderous gaze. He regarded the blood which now ran down his neck and stained his elven cloak.

"Bind his eyes," Uglúk growled.

Despite this defeat Aragorn gave the orc captain a queer smile as a black cloth was bound about his eyes. It was not long before the orcs had completed their task and they moved on again. As he marched Aragorn stumbled blindly and fell upon his knees. At once his enemies leapt forward with their long arms stretched out to seize him. The ranger did not struggle, but silently suffered their touch as they jeered and hauled him back to his feet.

At that moment his only comfort was that he had kept his promise to Frodo.

**XXX**

That night they made camp in a marshy landscape heavy with the promise of rain. As they came to a stop Aragorn was shoved ungraciously to the ground by one of his guards. His hands were bound in front of him, but he was still unable to catch himself and cried out in pain as he fell hard upon his arm and side.

The guard who had shoved him removed his blindfold and then gave the ranger a swift kick before turning away. He soon joined a number of orcs who took up crude axes and began to hack at the trees for firewood. It was hard to get a flame to catch in this landscape, but these creatures were skilled in its use and soon had a roaring campfire burning in their midst.

Mist drifted among the thickets of willow trees which dotted the surrounding slopes. The thick smell of wood smoke hung in the air and clung to the ground of the hollow where they had made camp. Aragorn watched as more faggots were piled upon the flames, the glow of the fire revealing the multitude of figures moving about in the darkness. Orcs had no use for a clean-burning fire, and as the wind changed direction a plume of black smoke drifted across the camp. Aragorn's eyes stung from the sight of it. Soon his eyes were red and tears swam in his vision. He raised his bound hands and wiped angrily at his face.

Despite the heat of the fire Aragorn felt keenly the wind's chill that evening. They had traveled long and hard for many days and he was growing steadily weaker; and yet he knew that something was wrong. The terrible orc-draught that they forced him to drink could only sustain him for so long. Despite his exhaustion he had managed to snatch only a few precious hours of sleep, and many times he had woken up in a cold sweat and shivering violently. Sleeping and waking seemed to blend into one long nightmarish struggle.

He was not left alone for long. From the direction of the fire came Uglúk, his sword clanking at his belt. Aragorn looked up at him with a glassy expression. Seizing him roughly Uglúk's groping fingers held him in an iron grip.

"There is a fever in your eyes," Uglúk said. "There is but a scratch on your neck. Where else are you wounded?"

Aragorn met his gaze steadily but gave no answer. Uglúk growled and withdrew a knife from his belt. He held it at the ranger's throat, leaning in threateningly close and said again: "Where is your wound?"

Aragorn swallowed lightly against the blade. He made no reaction as he felt fresh blood trickle in a thin line at his throat.

"It is my left arm," he said.

Aragorn did not wish to make things easy for his captors, but at that moment he was keenly aware of the Evenstar hanging about his neck. Uglúk seemed satisfied with this answer and caught the ranger by his bound hands, pulling him close and roughly pushing up his sleeve. Aragorn hissed with pain at this action. Uglúk ignored him and used his knife to cut away the crude bandage which was bound above the crook of the ranger's elbow. It was soaked through with blood, the wound itself angry and inflamed: the result of Gollum's frenzied attack upon Amon Lhaw.

"Now then," said Uglúk. "What's this?" The orc's cruel fingers bruised his arm, but Aragorn did not say anything. Uglúk measured him for a moment and then dug his fingers into the wound. Aragorn bit back a cry as the wound was torn open and blood began to run down his arm. "I asked you a question," Uglúk growled again. His eyes glinted menacingly in the light of the nearby fire. "What is this wound? I must know if I am to treat it."

Aragorn stared past him into the flames of the campfire.

"If you must know," he said, turning his eyes back towards Uglúk, "I set a match to myself before I took up my sword and slaughtered half of your camp."

Uglúk was not expecting such an answer. He remained silent for a moment as he pressed his fingers into the wound again. Eventually the orc gave a grunt and nodded.

"This is an ugly wound," he said. "If you had kept quiet about it any longer it would have killed you." He gave a smile and revealed a set of jagged teeth. "And we would not want that now, would we?"

Aragorn did not answer. Secretly he had suspected the danger which this wound presented. He did not like to admit it even to himself, but death seemed preferable to what awaited him at the end of his journey. The small hope he had cradled died as Uglúk put away his knife and removed a small wooden box from the pouch at his belt instead.

Soon another orc loomed out of the darkness and gave a shout.

"What are you doing, Uglúk?" sneered an evil voice. "You're not meant to play with the prisoner."

As he moved into the light of the fire Aragorn recognized Grishnákh's hunched figure. He kept one gnarled hand upon the sword at his belt as he regarded them both with suspicion.

"He is wounded," growled Uglúk. He removed the lid from the wooden box. "The fever will set in further if I don't clean this." He turned and gave Grishnákh a hard look. "Or do you want him to die now after we have went to so much trouble to catch him alive?"

Grishnákh gave a grunt.

"I suppose not," he said. "But you may kill the _tark_ yourself if you are too rough. Be careful with him." Grishnákh met the ranger's eyes as Uglúk worked, and the hand he kept on his sword tightened a little. The orcs carried no water with them, but Uglúk simply took some dark stuff from the wooden box and smeared it on Aragorn's wound. He was not gentle in his task. Aragorn did his best to disguise his pain as Uglúk worked.

Grishnákh kept watch as Uglúk cleaned the wound, looking ready to spring into action at the first sign of trouble. None presented itself. Once Uglúk had finished his task he calmly returned the lid to the wooden box.

"There," Uglúk said, "that should help keep you alive a little longer. Or at least until we reach our destination."

Aragorn sensed Grishnákh's unease at these words. He looked first at one orc and then at the other as Uglúk returned the wooden box to his belt.

"May I ask," Aragorn said, choosing his words carefully, "where you have decided to take me yet?"

Both were taken off-guard by this question. Neither answered at once. Uglúk simply growled his displeasure and dragged Aragorn up by his hair.

"You will find out when we arrive," he snarled. "And I would suggest that you still your insolent tongue until then." He leered at the ranger with a wicked grin. "Otherwise, I shall not hesitate to cut it out."

Uglúk released Aragorn's hair and turned away, but not before barking orders at the others to watch him more closely. He shot Grishnákh a suspicious look as he departed to oversee the rotation of the night watch. Grishnákh remained behind a fleeting moment before he too disappeared again into the shadows. Meanwhile Aragorn drew a deep breath and stared into the campfire as it quietly crackled before him. He had no idea where he was being taken, but he felt a sudden chill run through him even as the flames danced hungrily before his eyes.

Either the fires of Isengard or Mordor awaited him.


End file.
